


"Medium Security" V

by Gaedhal



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 53,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaedhal/pseuds/Gaedhal
Summary: The final episode of "Medium Security" --Justin is out of the Quad, but Brian remains behind bars.Can Justin and Ron work together to release him?





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

January 1979

 

The two strange men had been at the church for the funeral mass. 

It had been a sparse affair. Only a few family members and some women from the parish who worked with Mrs. Kinney on various committees. They felt they had to be there to support her. She was such a good, devout woman, after all, who didn’t deserve all of the grief that had come into her life recently. 

There were only two arrangements of flowers with the casket. It was a shame, really. One of the bouquets was from the Altar Society and the other didn’t have a name on it. The first was lilies and greenery, which was appropriate for a funeral. The other was a large arrangement of red roses with a golden bow tied around the basket.

Then the two strangers followed the funeral procession to the cemetery in a large black Lincoln Continental. It was beginning to snow again. They parked away from the other cars and walked well behind the rest of the mourners to the gravesite.

The parish priest said the required words. He didn’t know the deceased, but he knew Joan Kinney and for her sake he made an attempt to be comforting. But she was stony-faced. Perhaps she was all cried out. Or simply stunned. Or perhaps she didn’t feel anything at all. She was a woman who had been numb inside for many years already.

Another younger priest with sandy hair stood with Joan Kinney, patting her hand and offering words of sympathy. But she only stared straight ahead. She didn’t even glance at her daughter, Claire, who was standing on her other side.

Claire dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. She gazed curiously at the two unknown men standing on the margins of the gathering. One was a well-dressed gentleman of about 50. Distinguished-looking, with a touch of gray in his dark, wavy hair. The other was a younger man. Much younger. Maybe even still in his teens. He wore a long navy blue overcoat and his blond hair glistened in the weak winter light. His eyes were red-rimmed and he kept turning around, as if he was looking for something. Or someone.

She noticed that the pair were holding hands.

Claire wrinkled her nose in disgust. Who were these men? And what were they doing at her father’s service? What possible connection could a couple of fags have to Jack Kinney?

“He has to be here!” Justin whispered. “Where is he? This is almost over!”

“Maybe the authorities changed their minds and wouldn’t let him come,” Ron speculated. He was worried, too. It was getting late and getting dark. The priest seemed to be finishing his remarks. Then they’d throw dirt on the coffin and John Patrick Kinney would be history. But neither Ron nor Justin cared about Jack Kinney. They only cared about his son. And that son obviously wasn’t going to appear at his father’s funeral.

“Father Bob said that Brian got permission from Warden Horvath to come to the funeral. So why isn’t he here?” Justin couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. They slowly coursed down his cheeks and he wiped at them with the back of his gloved hand before they froze to his chilled skin. “I only wanted to see him! I wouldn’t have made a scene or tried to talk to him or touch him!” Justin turned and buried his face in Ron’s cashmere coat. “He won’t come to the Visitors’ Gallery! He won’t answer my letters! I only wanted to see him for five fucking minutes!”

“It’s all right, Baby,” murmured Ron, rubbing Justin’s back. “Don’t cry. You’ll see him. We’ll both see him. It just wasn’t meant to happen today.”

“But when?” Justin looked towards the gravesite. He was aware that people from the funeral party were staring at the two of them. But Justin didn’t give a shit what they thought. Let them stare! “I’m going out of my mind, Ron! I really am!”

“I know,” said Ron, in resignation. “So am I. But there’s nothing we can do about it right now, Justin. Nothing to do but wait. And hope that Brian comes to his senses very soon.”

Ron looked up at the darkening sky and the snow that was beginning to fall harder. He put his arm around Justin’s shoulders and they both walked to the car, heading back home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two new characters. They will be important!

Chapter 2

 

January 1979

 

Kirk Bradley carried his bag of take-out food up the stairs and unlocked the door of his rented room.

Another fucking flophouse. Another lousy fast food meal.

That was his life. Some fucking life!

He sat on the bed and turned on the radio. He had to get out of this town soon. It was January and he was freezing his ass off. Maybe he’d go to New Mexico or Arizona where it was warm. But he wanted to see his kids first. If that bitch would let him see them. That’s the only reason he had come to Tacoma – because Lisa was here with the kids.

Kirk couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. They had been doing okay in Portland. They had rented a house in a decent neighborhood and he had a job on a loading dock and Lisa was working in a mall. 

But then it all went to hell. So maybe he was drinking a little too much. So fucking what? It wasn’t out of control. And maybe they were living on the edges of society when they might have been doing much better. After all, Kirk was a bright guy – too bright for his own good, he admitted – and Lisa was a college graduate. But they were stuck in minimum-wage hell and prices only kept going up. Gas was fucking going through the roof and so was the rent.

And Lisa was always afraid. Paranoid. That was the worst thing for her. Kirk didn’t trust anyone and that fear had infected his wife. But it wasn’t just paranoia, Kirk reasoned. It was real. It was the only thing keeping them safe.

The only thing keeping Kirk out of prison.

There was a knock on the door. Kirk got off the bed and went over to it. “Who is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“A friend,” said the voice.

Kirk held his breath. He didn’t have any friends in this city. Fuck, he didn’t have any friends, period!

But that had been the code word. ‘Friend.’ That’s what they’d say. “I’m a friend.” That’s how you knew it was all right to trust them.

Kirk opened the door.

A short man was standing there. He was wearing jeans and a leather jacket and his dark blond hair was down to his shoulders. He didn’t look like a cop or a Fed. Kirk wasn’t certain what he looked like.

“Kirk Bradley?” the man asked.

“N...no, man,” said Kirk. “I’m Pete. You’ve got the wrong room.” Kirk began to close the door.

But the man pushed his way inside. He shut and locked the door behind him. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” said Kirk. “Get the fuck out of here!”

“I don’t think so,” said the man. He was casing the room. Checking out the dingy decor. And Kirk’s meager belongings, which fit into two battered suitcases. “Pete Bennett. Russell Coe. Kirk Bradley. All of those guys interest me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” said Kirk, nervously.

“Yeah,” the stranger continued. “Those guys all interest me. But another guy interests me even more. Glenn Fitzpatrick. Remember him?”

Kirk gulped. “Never heard of him.”

“Oh, I think you have. I think he was a close friend of yours. Very, very close.” The stranger went to the window and glanced outside. It was raining. It was always raining in fucking Tacoma! “Almost like a brother. Or even closer. Like you, yourself.”

“What the fuck do you want?” asked Kirk. Now he was really afraid. He had to get out of here! This guy must be some kind of cop.

But the stranger was watching his eyes. “No, I’m not a cop. This is my card.” He pulled a calling card out of the pocket of his leather jacket and handed it to Kirk. It read ‘A. J. Jones, Private Investigator,’ with a San Francisco number. 

“So?” said Kirk, gripping the card in his hand.

“My client is interested in talking to you. I’ve been following your movements for a while. Getting to know you a little. You’re at the end of the line, Kirk.” Jones looked around the room in disgust. “You were going to change the world. This is a pretty sad come-down from that lofty goal. Is it worth it? Is your freedom worth it? And are you really free? Doesn’t look like it to me. You’re pathetic.”

“Get out of here!” Kirk cried wildly. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

“I’m going,” said Jones. “Being in this room with you makes me feel dirty. But before I go I want to ask you if you ever think about someone else. A kid named Brian Kinney. A kid you seduced and used and left for the cops. Do you ever think about what happened to him? What happened to the young man who took the rap for your crimes?”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Kirk licked his dry lips.

“Then you might want to check this out.” A.J. Jones pulled some neatly folded pieces of paper from inside his leather jacket. They looked like glossy pages from an upscale magazine. “This was published last month. It’s in three parts, so be sure to read them all. I think what you read here will be a real eye-opener. It’s amazing the things that men can do to other men, but especially what they can do to a naive kid who lands in prison on a 20-year-to-life sentence.”

Jones held out the pages and Kirk took them hesitantly. His hands were trembling.

“Adios, Kirk,” said Jones, walking to the door. “Enjoy your reading.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the funeral.

Chapter 3

 

“Was he there?” asked Jennifer, meeting Justin and Ron at the door of the condo.

Justin shook his head dismally. “He didn’t show! After Father Bob told us that he would be there! I don’t understand it.”

Justin took off his coat, threw it over the back of the sofa, and slumped down on the soft cushions.

“Maybe something happened at the prison?” Jennifer offered. “Maybe they couldn’t get there in time?”

“Possibly,” said Ron. He leaned over and kissed Jennifer as she took his cashmere coat and hung it in the closet. “I’ll call Stanton tomorrow and see if I can talk to Horvath and get the true story. But the real problem is Brian himself.” Ron paused and looked at Justin, who glared back at his mother’s boyfriend.

“Brian doesn’t have a problem, Ron! He thinks he’s doing all of this stuff for our own good – but it’s bullshit!” Justin snapped.

“Justin, please!” begged Jennifer. “Your language!”

“I’m sorry, Mom, if my language wouldn’t be acceptable at the country club,” Justin huffed. “But the country club is bullshit, too! Fuck the country club and all the people in it! I only want to see Brian!”

Justin jumped up from the sofa and stormed off to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Justin’s adjustment to life outside of prison had been turbulent, to say the least. His moods swung from elation at his new-found freedom to fear of being out in public to depression over his separation from Brian. Justin wrote to his former cellmate almost every day, but, almost two months after his release, he had yet to receive a reply. Justin and Ron had also gone to Stanton for Visiting Day in December, but Brian had refused to come down to the Gallery to see them.

Justin had been certain that Brian would make an appearance at his father’s funeral. He had even called Father Bob McHale, the prison chaplain, who assured Justin that Warden Horvath would give his permission for Brian to attend and arrange for his transportation to the church and the cemetery. But both Justin and Ron waited in vain to see him.

“He’s very upset, Jen,” said Ron. “Justin was devastated when Brian didn’t come to the funeral.” Ron neglected to add that he had been devastated, too, only Ron had learned to hide his emotions better than the boy was able to.

“Were there a lot of people at the service?” asked Jennifer. She was very curious about the background of Brian Kinney, the shadowy figure who loomed so large in her life.

“Not really,” said Ron, sitting in the easy chair and picking up the evening newspaper. “The Kinneys aren’t exactly social butterflies. It looked liked a few family members and some older women, probably friends of Brian’s mother. And a couple of priests. That was it. There was only one other floral arrangement besides the one I sent.”

“That’s so sad!” sighed Jennifer.

Jennifer had dinner almost ready, but before she served it she needed to talk to Ron about another matter. This was something that Ron wasn’t going to want to hear about, but what was Jennifer supposed to do? She felt caught in the middle. “Honey, I hate to bring this up now, but Jane called while you and Justin were out.”

“Shit!” said Ron, throwing down his newspaper. “What the hell does she want now?”

“She wouldn’t tell me. She barely speaks to me, you know that,” Jennifer reminded him. “But she said it was important. Extremely important.”

“That’s what she always says!” Ron complained. “The last time she called was to bitch at me about a stupid $20 credit card charge. She’ll do anything to harass me!”

“It’s because she’s angry, Ron,” said Jennifer. “The same way Craig was angry at me.”

“Jane is being unreasonable – as usual!” Ron replied. 

Even though she had been the one to initiate it, Jane wasn’t taking their impeding divorce at all well. But Ron wasn’t too surprised. After all, the woman had stuck with him for all of the years Ron had been in prison and now she was feeling more than slightly betrayed. 

But Jane needed to face facts – things hadn’t been working out between them. And as much as Ron hated the hassle of going through a divorce, he had to admit that lately Jane was hindering him much more than she was helping him. If that was going to be the case, then Jane was a liability and their separation was a necessary evil. 

Max and Hannah were both in college, so it wasn’t as if he and Jane were breaking up a happy family. Ron hadn’t exactly been a full-time father the entire time he was in prison, so the kids weren’t suffering. No, Jane only became upset when Ron’s relationship with Jennifer was brought out into the open in the aftermath of Justin’s release from Stanton. Jane had felt publicly humiliated by that revelation. Well, there wasn’t anything Ron could do about Jane’s hurt feelings. It was too late to put that cat back in the bag. She would just have to deal with it.

“Justin! Sweetheart!” called Jennifer. “Dinner’s ready!”

Justin came out of his room and sat sullenly at the dinner table. It was set for only three because Molly was at Craig’s for the weekend. Jennifer served dinner and then sat down at the table with Justin and Ron. But while Ron described Jack Kinney’s funeral, Justin only picked at his food.

“Mom?” Justin said finally. “Remember that apartment I told you about? The one in the building off Liberty Avenue that Mrs. Novotny told me about?”

Jennifer grimaced. Liberty Avenue was where that motel where she and Ron used to meet was located. It was a rundown area with a sleazy reputation. “What about it, honey?”

“I want to move out of here,” Justin stated bluntly. “I’m sick of staying in this condo and that apartment is available. I want to move in there.”

“Oh, Justin!” Jennifer sighed. “Don’t be silly!”

But Justin didn’t waver. “I’m not being silly. Mom, your divorce agreement says that Dad has to pay my tuition at Carnegie Mellon, so I don’t need to worry about that. And if you can help me with the deposit and the rent on the apartment, I think I can afford everything else. Mrs. Novotny promised me that busboy job at the Liberty Diner and I can eat most of my meals for free if I work there. If you let me have some of the extra furniture from the house I’ll have enough to furnish the whole apartment. All that furniture is only sitting in storage going to waste. Please, Mom? I really want my own place.”

Jennifer bit at her lip. “Justin, we’ve already been over this! You’re still very shaky when you go out alone. And... and you need me to take care of you!”

“I can take care of myself, Mom!” Justin retorted. “I’m not a child. I’m starting classes next week and... and I want to make a fresh start. And that includes my own place to live. No offense, Mom, but I don’t want to live here with you and Molly – and Ron.” Justin glanced at him, but Ron’s face didn’t change. Justin was never certain what the man was thinking – if anything. “If I’m going to make any progress, then I have to at least try to be independent. That’s what my therapist says.”

“I know, Justin, but....” Jennifer looked over at Ron to back her up.

Instead, to Jennifer’s surprise, Ron nodded his head. “I agree with Justin. He needs to learn to stand on his own two feet. He’s starting college and he doesn’t want to live in the dorm – and after being in the Quad for almost a year, I don’t blame him. He’s a young man and he wants some privacy and his own space. I’ll kick in for the deposit and the rent, Justin, as long as you can handle the rest.”

“I should be able to afford it,” said Justin, watching Ron’s face closely. Ron must have his own reasons for wanting him out of the condo. Ron never did anything without a reason that benefitted himself. But Justin didn’t care as long as Ron’s actions also benefitted Justin. Such as agreeing to pay Justin’s rent. 

“But that’s less than minimum wage, honey,” Jennifer pointed out.

“Don’t worry, Mom. Mrs. Novotny says the tips at the Liberty Diner are really good if you have a great ass!” Then Justin blushed when he saw his mother’s shocked face. “Um, I think she was joking, Mom.”

“I’m certain that she was,” Ron added quickly. “You know what an odd sense of humor Debbie Novotny has, Jen.”

“I suppose so,” said Jennifer. There was nothing she could do if Ron was going to take Justin’s side. Typical men!

Ron didn’t think that working at that unsanitary dive with Mikey Novotny’s mother was the best job that Justin could have, but it was a start. Having to deal with people every day might give the boy some badly needed self-confidence. Later he could move on to a better job. Perhaps next summer he could work as an intern at the Prisoners’ Legal Defense. Ron would put him to work as Julie’s go-fer. Yes, that bastard Craig would hate that! He already hated Ron, so he would detest seeing Ron and Justin working in the same office.

And having the kid in a separate apartment would get him out from underfoot. It was hard enough living in this cramped condo without having both a hyperactive little girl and a petulant, spoiled teenager sharing the space. With Justin in his own apartment and attending classes at Carnegie Mellon, he wouldn’t be sitting around the condo all day brooding over Brian. He’d make some friends and find out what life was like beyond the Quad. And, with Ron paying his rent every month, he would be in Ron’s debt. 

Ron finished up his Salisbury Steak. Jennifer was a pretty good cook. Not too creative, but she could learn. Maybe he’d suggest a cooking class she could take. And Ron still wasn’t tired of her in bed. No, not tired of her at all. As long as Jennifer had to remain in Pittsburgh – Craig had threatened to sue for custody of Molly if she tried to move to Chicago – it was convenient for Ron to live there while his divorce was going through. Of course, Jennifer expected them to get married once it was finalized, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

The phone rang and Jennifer jumped up to answer it.

“Ron, honey! It’s for you!” said Jennifer. “It’s long distance.”

Ron left the table and took the call.

“Mr. Rosenblum,” said the remote voice. “This is Jones. I’m in Tacoma. I made contact with our target and I gave him the material.”

Ron’s heart almost stopped. “You don’t think he’s going to bolt, do you?”

“No,” said Jones. “He’s against the wall. I don’t think there’s anywhere else for him to run. I’m going to let him stew over his literature for a little while – and then....”

“And then,” said Ron, lowering his voice. “Go in for the kill.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Em tries to speak with Brian.

Chapter 4

 

January 1979

 

Al hesitated before he knocked on the door of Brian’s cell. Sometimes Brian answered and sometimes he didn’t, but Al was hoping that Brian would communicate today.

“Hey, Bri!” Al called out. “I thought you might like to read this letter I got today. It’s from Wesley.”

There was no response.

“I’m gonna slip it through the bars in case you wanna read it, okay? Wes asks about you. He says that he wrote to you, but you didn’t answer him back.” Al paused, waiting to hear if Brian would say something. Anything. “Anyway, I hope you read Wes’ letter. I miss the little shit. It’s kind of lonely without him around. You know how that is. Right?”

Al stood outside the cell to see if Brian might come to the door, but he didn’t. There was no light on inside. The only way that Al even knew that Brian was in there was that he could hear the radio playing softly. Playing that Oldies station. Always the Oldies station.

Al walked up the tier to the Rec Room.

Emmy and Jackie were sitting on the old sofa, working on a needlepoint pillow.

“Al, honey! I heard you got a letter from Wesley!” cried Emmy.

“Can we read it?” begged Jackie.

“Sure,” said Al. “I left it with Brian, but you can see it when he’s finished.”

Emmy glanced over at Jackie, who shrugged. “Is Bri Baby talking today, Al? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing,” Al admitted. “I left the letter at the cell. But I hope he reads it. If it wasn’t for Brian, Wes never would have gotten out.”

“How’s Wesley’s mom?” Jackie asked.

“Not too good,” said Al, his tired eyes looking sad. “But at least the kid is there with her.”

“That’s a blessing,” said Emmy, patting Al’s hand. Everyone on the tier had known that Al was attached to his punk, but no one – probably not even Al himself – had foreseen just how down in the dumps Al would be after Wesley was sent home to Indiana.

And Brian had managed it. Brian, with the aid of Father Bob and Dr. Caputo, had appealed to the Parole Board on Wesley’s behalf – and the Board had agreed. Wes ended up at his sick mother’s side in time for Christmas. That made for two miracles that Brian had seemingly pulled out of thin air – Justin’s release and Wesley’s parole.

But after those triumphs Brian seemed to go into full retreat. He was only rarely seen on the Yard and never in the Rec Room or the Gym. Every weekday morning Brian worked in the Law Library for a few hours, but then he returned to his cell and stayed there until dinner. He walked down to the Chow Hall alone, ate alone, and then went back into hiding in his cell, barely speaking or even responding to anyone, not even his best friends on the tier.

At first Emmy, Michelle, and Ben had tried to force Brian to interact with them. They walked to dinner with him, falling in step beside him as they all filed down to the Chow Hall. But Brian stopped and turned back, locking himself in his cell for the rest of the evening. Next they tried waiting until he was already in the Chow Hall and then sitting down with him, acting as if everything was perfectly normal. But Brian immediately stood up and walked out of the Hall, leaving his tray and uneaten food behind.

Now they merely left him alone. Everyone left Brian alone. They didn’t know what else to do.

Shortly after Justin had been freed, a new inmate came into the East Wing and was placed with Brian. He was an older man in on a three-to-five for forgery and passing bad checks. But after three days with Brian he requested a transfer.

“I can’t live in there with that guy!” he complained to the C.O.’s. “He’s a fucking spook! I think he’s psycho. He sits there in the dark for hours and he doesn’t say a fucking thing. I don’t care where you move me, just anywhere else!”

So the inmate was moved to the first tier. 

A few weeks later another new fish came in. He was a younger inmate and a first timer. He lasted almost a week before he begged to be transferred out of the cell with ‘The Spook.’

“He stares at me like he’s gonna kill me!” the kid told the C.O.’s. “I’m scared of him! Please take me out of there!”

And the kid was transferred to the second tier.

Emmy shook her head. She wasn’t certain what to do about Brian. Or if there was anything that could be done. He might well snap out of his funk and be back to his normal self any day. Or he might continue on this strange path indefinitely – in which case he was bucking for a one way ticket to the Psycho Ward.

Every few days Emmy collected Brian’s mail from one of the queens who worked the Mailroom and took it up to Brian’s cell. One of the C.O.’s, Sergeant Tully, was also concerned about the radical deterioration of Kinney, who he considered a model inmate, so Emmy enlisted him to help Brian as much as they could. While Brian was at the Law Library Sergeant Tully would unlock Brian’s cell and let Emmy in. Em would tidy up the cell, make up the bunk, and take away Brian’s dirty clothes to wash. She would also arrange Brian’s mail on the floor next to his bunk.

But so far Brian hadn’t opened a single one of the letters he had received since Justin left. These were chiefly from Justin and Ron, but there were also letters from Amy Carver and a number of other people whose names Em didn’t recognize, mostly with New York postmarks. The mail piled up next to Brian’s bunk, untouched. 

Em had also noticed that Brian didn’t seem to be reading his magazines, either. His new copies of ‘The New Yorker’ sat on the floor untouched. Even when the excerpts from Brian’s manuscript began appearing in that same magazine, there was still no change in Brian’s behavior. When he first learned of the publication, Warden Horvath had angrily placed Brian under punitive lockdown, but it hardly mattered since Brian rarely left his cell anyway. 

Some of the inmates got hold of copies of the three issues of ‘The New Yorker’ containing Brian’s memoir and soon all of the men in the East Wing, as well as many in the South, were reading it avidly. Most of the guys already knew the outlines of Brian’s history, but seeing it in print was fucking awesome! Brian told things the way they really were in prison, no holds barred, and the men respected that. Yeah, Bri Baby admitted that he was a faggot before he came into the Quad, but so what? They pretty much knew that shit already. What they liked was the way Brian came down hard on the legal system that had convicted him and on the former administration of Stanton for letting the gangs run wild there. Also for revealing the basic corruption of the whole lousy system. And for pointing the finger at the big shots who had orchestrated his conviction. The men all wondered what punishment would be in store for poor old Bri Baby – as if he needed any more punishment than what he was inflicting on himself.

In the end Warden Horvath and the Board of Prisons did nothing. The ‘New Yorker’ excerpts ended with Ron’s rescue of Brian from the low-riders’s tip, an event that had taken place a decade earlier, long before the new administration had initiated their program of reforms. The powers-that-be looked at Brian’s story – as far as it went – not as an indictment of the current state of affairs in Stanton Correctional, but of the old, discredited system. And the Board of Prisons released a statement saying just that. And then did nothing more.

Emmy left the Rec Room and walked down the third tier. She knocked gently at Brian’s cell. She could hear Brian’s radio playing softly. Em could almost feel Brian’s presence inside. Almost hear his breathing.

“Bri Baby?” Emmy called. “Won’t you talk to me, honey? Just to say hello?”

But the only greeting Emmy received was a profound silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin has a visitor at the diner.

Chapter 5

 

January 1979

 

“Sunshine!” cried Debbie Novotny in delight. “I was hoping that I’d see you here today!”

“Hello, Mrs. Novotny,” said Justin. The woman hugged him tightly. A little too tightly. Justin slowly disentangled himself from her strong embrace. “I thought I’d see you here, too.”

“And hiya to you, Mr. R.” Debbie nodded to Ron, who was looming right behind Justin.

“Mrs. Novotny,” said Ron, grimacing. “So nice to see you again.”

The three were standing in line, waiting to go into the Visitors’ Gallery. Debbie had a shopping bag full of items for her son, Michael, and Justin was holding a plastic bag to give to Brian.

“I heard that Bri Baby hasn’t been feeling too well lately. I know he didn’t come down to see you last month,” Debbie said. “I hope he’s better now.”

“So do I,” Justin replied. “I brought him a new sweater. It’s been so cold that I thought he might need it.” Justin felt himself choking up. “The cells in Stanton are... are so damp in the winter.”

“You’re a darling, honey,” said Debbie, patting the boy’s cheek. “So thoughtful.”

What a sweet kid he is, thought Deb. Too bad about Bri Baby. Mikey’s letters were full of worry for his friend. Poor Brian seemed to have gone off the rails ever since Sunshine was released. Maybe if he would come down and talk to his former cellmate – BOTH of his former cellmates! – he’d feel a lot better. It didn’t help to isolate yourself when you were in prison. Sitting in your cell, day in and day out, only drove you nuts.

“So, you’re going to take that apartment?” asked Debbie. “You think you can swing the rent, honey?”

“I’m definitely taking it, Mrs. Novotny,” said Justin. “Ron is going to help me with the rent. And my mom is giving me some of her old furniture. But I want to paint the place before I move in.”

“That’ll spiff it up,” Debbie agreed. “That’s an old building, but the rooms are nice and big and the ceilings are high. You’ll have a nice little place there when you finish with it.”

So, the lawyer was helping the kid out by giving him money. And living with Sunshine’s mom, too. That was a shocker. No wonder the kid wanted his own place. Must be quite a cozy little scene with all of them living together!

“You thinking of getting a roommate?” Debbie asked. “There’s two bedrooms in that apartment.”

“I know,” said Justin. “I was thinking of making the second bedroom into an art studio. It has big windows and gets a lot of light. But I don’t want a roommate.” Justin hesitated, glancing at Ron. But what the fuck? “When Brian gets out he’ll be living with me, but we’ll only need one bedroom.”

“Oh,” said Debbie. “You think Brian is getting out soon?” Poor kid, she thought. He’s really dreaming! Brian still had at least 10 years to go before he had any hope of getting out!

“I’m hoping, Mrs. Novotny,” Justin smiled. “I’m always hoping.”

Ron shook his head. Yes, they were both always hoping. But maybe... just maybe... that hope was closer than ever.

But then... what would Ron do about the kid? That was something that Ron had yet to figure out.

“Don’t forget to stop by the diner and pick up your apron and nametag,” Debbie reminded Justin. “And always wear a nice, tight pair of jeans to show off that sweet little tush! You’ll get a lot of tips that way.” 

“Sure, Mrs. Novotny.” Justin tried to smile, but he couldn’t force himself. “I’ll remember.”

The doors opened and the visitors began to file into the Gallery.

Justin clutched his plastic bag. In it was a brown and gold plaid pullover. A wool and polyester blend. Justin had tried it on himself and it was nice and warm. Just what Brian needed. Justin had already gotten him a sweater at Christmas – a maroon cardigan – along with a lot of other presents that he had brought when he and Ron visited Stanton in December. But Brian hadn’t come to the Gallery that day. They had waited for the entire hour, but to no avail. Finally, Justin passed the presents to one of the C.O.’s, who promised to get them to Brian. But Justin had never heard from his lover. Nothing. Justin pictured Brian wearing the maroon sweater. Then he pictured him wearing the new brown and gold pullover. And reading the books that he had included in Brian’s Christmas package. But Justin wanted to know for certain. He didn’t want to guess.

Ron led Justin over to one of the middle tables, while Mrs. Novotny sat down at the one next to theirs.

“We can’t seem to shake that damn woman,” Ron muttered.

“She means well, Ron,” Justin replied. “She told me about the apartment. And she got me the job at the diner.”

“When do you start there?” asked Ron. The place was an infamous hangout for hookers, drag queens, and other low-lives.

“This weekend. The morning shift on Saturday. I have to be there at 6:00 a.m.”

“You better set your alarm, then.” Ron shifted nervously in the hard, wooden chair. “If Brian doesn’t show up today I feel like marching into the Quad, walking up to the tier, and knocking some sense into him!”

“I don’t think you’d get very far,” Justin pointed out. “I get frustrated, too, Ron. Knowing that Brian is right inside – and not being able to communicate with him.”

Ron glared at Justin. “Now you understand how I felt when Brian wouldn’t see me and wouldn’t answer my letters. You start to get desperate. Desperate for any word. Desperate for any clue to what’s happening inside his screwed-up head. I know that you think I was a pain in the ass, Justin, but maybe now you understand a little better. You turn over in your mind every mistake you made. Everything you said. It gets obsessive. You get obsessive.”

Justin nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m starting to feel that way, too. And I don’t like it.”

As much as Justin hated to empathize with Ron, the truth was that they were both in the same boat – on the outside, with no way to reach the person they most wanted to be close to.

Except in the Visitors’ Gallery. If only Brian would be there.

The Stanton-side doors opened and the inmates began to come in. Michael was one of the first, heading directly for his mother and giving her a big hug. He glanced over at Justin and Ron, but he didn’t smile at them. Instead, he shook his head.

“Fucking Mikey,” breathed Ron. “I bet he knows that Brian isn’t coming down.”

Justin put his head down and rubbed his eyes. “Please, God! Make him come down here and see me!”

“God doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with it, kid,” said Ron, angrily.

“Gentlemen!” said a familiar voice.

Justin looked up. “Em! What are you doing here?”

“Visiting,” said Emmy. She sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Visiting you. I’ve never had a visitor before, you know. But I told the C.O.’s that you were coming to see me and they let me down.”

Justin stared at Emmy. He had never seen her look so butch. She was wearing her plain workpants and blue shirt with no embellishments or jewelry, not even a single scarf or bracelet. And no make-up. Em had also pushed her long, light brown hair behind her ears.

“Since you’re here in his place, Emmett,” said Ron, coolly. “I suppose that means Brian isn’t coming to the Gallery.” 

“No, he isn’t coming,” Em admitted.

“Shit!” Justin cried in disappointment. “What’s the fucking point? What is Brian trying to prove?”

“He’s not trying to prove anything, babydoll,” Em said gently. Poor Justin! He looked so sad. “He’s only barely hanging on. He’s not talking to anyone, he’s hardly eating, he... Brian is in trouble. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Is it that bad?” breathed Ron. “Does Horvath know? What about Dr. Caputo? Is anyone doing anything at all?”

“There’s nothing they can do, Ronnie honey!” snapped Em. “Brian hasn’t broken any rules. He hasn’t caused any trouble. He... he’s just THERE. But that’s all. They can’t even keep a cellmate in with him. Guys can’t live with him because he only lies in his bunk and stares into space. He doesn’t communicate. He barely responds at all, not even to me or Ben or Michelle.” Em glanced over at Michael, who was sitting with his mother and whispering to her.

“Listen to me, Emmett,” said Ron. “Brian has been like this in the past. It’s not a good sign. He goes into these depressions, but he has always come out of them. Except....” Ron paused.

“Except what?” said Justin. A cold shiver moved down his spine.

“Except that sometimes he tries something stupid,” said Ron. “But I was always there to stop it. Because I knew the signs. This is not good, Emmett, especially if there’s no one in the cell with him. Or no one who cares enough to do anything.”

Em tossed her head. “Don’t you suggest that I don’t care, Mr. Rosenblum! You may think that I’m a silly, worthless queen, but I’m Brian’s friend. And so is Michelle and so is Ben! But what can we do if we can’t talk to the man? I’ve been cleaning his cell and trying to reach out to him, but he simply won’t give anything back.”

“You’ve been in the cell, Em?” said Justin, eagerly. “Did Brian get my Christmas presents? And my letters? Is he readng my letters? Because he hasn’t answered. Not even one page.”

Emmy looked at Justin sadly. “He got your letters, cupcake. And yours, too, Ronnie. But he hasn’t opened them. He hasn’t opened any of his mail.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that, Em?” Justin asked. “Why didn’t you let me know how bad it was?” 

“I didn’t want you to worry, babydoll,” Emmy answered. “Especially not over Christmas. Besides, I thought he’d snap out of it by now.”

Justin ran his hands over the bag containing the new plaid sweater. He could almost feel the soft, warm material. “What about his Christmas presents, Em? The ones I brought him last month?”

“They’re still sitting on the floor of the cell. The package hasn’t been opened,” said Emmy. “I’m sorry, Justin.”

Justin stared down at the bag in his lap. Then he laid it on the table and pushed it across to Emmett. “Could you take this to him, Em? Please?”

“Of course, hon,” said Emmy. “I’ll put it in his cell.” Too bad it’s only going to lie there on the floor, thought Em.

Ron sat in his seat, trying to think. If only he could get to Brian! If only he could talk to him! But in the meanwhile....

“Emmett, this is important. I want you to search Brian’s cell the next time you’re in there,” said Ron.

“Search it?” Emmy frowned. “And what, may I ask, am I searching for?”

“Pills,” said Ron bluntly. “I want you to see if he’s hoarding pills. And if you find any, I want you to flush them immediately. Then make certain that he doesn’t get any more. Have Dr. Caputo put Baby on suicide watch over in the Hospital Wing if that’s what it takes. But do it!”

“But where would he be getting pills, Ronnie?” huffed Em. “He never leaves the cell!”

“Does he go to the Law Library?” asked Ron. “He must be, because Julie is still getting mailings from him regarding pending cases.”

“Yes,” Em admitted. “He goes there every day for a few hours. And he usually goes to the Chow Hall once a day to eat something.”

“Then he could be going to the South Wing, too!” Ron shook his head at the queen’s stupidity. “Or someone might be bringing him stuff from over there! Because if Brian is hoarding pills, that means he’s only waiting for the right moment.”

Justin gulped. “The right moment for what?”

Ron turned and stared at the kid. “To write the last chapter of his book. That’s what!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben has a conversation.

Chapter 6

 

January 1979

 

Ben stood in the chow line waiting to get his lunch when the guy behind him nudged his pal and said, “Hey, look. Here comes the Spook.”

Ben turned towards the door and saw Brian slink into the Chow Hall. He looked disheveled, even dazed, almost as if he were in a trance. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he had been sleeping in them. And he looked thin. Not as thin as he had after his stabbing, but close to it. All of the work that had gone into building Brian back up to full strength seemed to have been for nothing. Ben’s heart sank to see him.

“That guy belongs in the Psycho Ward,” said the second inmate. “I’m glad I don’t have to cell with the Spook.”

“Yeah, he might bite you when you’re sleeping!” the first guy smirked.

Ben grabbed the guy by the collar of his workshirt and jerked him sharply. “You better shut the fuck up right this minute, asshole!” Ben warned. “If I hear you or anybody else using that name for Brian again I’m going to kick some ass in this Quad! You got that, punk?”

“B...but Juice...!” the inmate stuttered.

“No fucking buts! I don’t want to hear it!” Ben pushed the guy away roughly. “So spread the fucking word.”

“Sure, Juice. Sure thing!” The two pals hurried through the line and away from the Juice Pig. He was close to psycho himself, so it was no wonder that he was buddies with the Spook. The buzz was that Juice was hyped up on steroids and muscle shit and everybody knows that makes you freak out!

Brian took a tray and put a small amount of food on it. Then he sat at a corner table, alone. No one sat anywhere near him.

Ben took his own tray over to the queen’s table.

“Brian came in,” whispered Michelle to her jocker as he sat down next to her.

“I know,” said Ben, shortly. “I saw him.”

“He looks awful, honey!” said Emmy. She thought of Justin’s desperate face as he sat in the Visitors’ Gallery. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, Em, but somebody has to do something.” Ben stared at the hamburger on his plate, but he no longer felt like eating. 

“If Bri Baby would only go down and talk to Justin I’m sure he’d feel much better,” Barbie prattled. “I always feel better after I see someone on Visiting Day. It gives me a big lift!”

“Brian needs more than a big lift, dolly,” said Emmy. “He needs shock treatment!”

“Does the kid really want to see Bri looking like that?” asked Michelle. “That might be worse than not seeing him at all!”

“I don’t think Sunshine cares what he looks like,” said Em. “He only wants to be in the same room with him.”

Ben listened to the queens dish poor Bri and poor Sunshine for a few more minutes before he couldn’t listen anymore. “I’m going to the Gym,” said Ben, standing up.

“But you didn’t finish your lunch, Benjie!” Michelle whined. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” Ben grunted. 

Ben picked up his tray and took it back to the window. But the entire time he was watching Brian. Brian was eating, but it was mechanical. Like he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing. Like he was lost in his own world that was somewhere far away from the Chow Hall. Far away from the Quad. Where are you, Brian? wondered Ben. Where is it that you spend all of your time? And how long are you going to be there?

“Your comrade is fucked up, Juice,” said a deep voice.

Ben turned to see Baraka, the leader of the Brothers of the South Wing. He had recently traded his distinctive afro for a braided style that one of the newer black queens had learned before she came into the Quad.

“I know,” said Ben. The two of them watched as Brian suddenly stopped eating, stood up, and rushed out of the Chow Hall, almost as if someone had summoned him and he was answering the call. “But what the hell can I do?”

“This isn’t the first time,” said Baraka. “It happens when the Baby can’t deal. When he can’t be in this place no more. So he’s NOT in it. Kinney’s gone.” 

Baraka wasn’t quite as tall or as muscular as Ben, but he was a powerful figure. One of the few men in the Quad who could look the Juice Pig in the eye. One of the few men who wasn’t afraid of Ben – or of anyone else.

“But where does he go?” asked Ben.

“Fuck if I know,” Baraka admitted. “But if he don’t come back soon he’s going to die.”

Ben was startled. “You think it’s that serious?”

Baraka nodded. “I been in this hole almost as long as Kinney. The lawyer and the Baby were already tight when I came in. That was right before the ‘Happening’ on the Yard. I was a new fish then, but Kinney was already a veteran punk.”

Ben shook his head. ‘The Happening’ was the name that some of the older inmates gave to the prison riot that had occurred in the summer of 1973. Ben didn’t know much about it except that a war had broken out between the Brothers, who controlled one area of the Yard, and the Aryan Warriors, a White Supremacist gang who controlled another area. Something had set off a confrontation between the two groups and when it was over fifteen inmates, both black and white, and two guards were dead. The National Guard had to be called in to restore order to Stanton Correctional. After that disaster the corrupt administration of the prison had been thrown out and a new regime, led by Warden Carl Horvath, had taken over.

“That lawyer would tell you if he was here,” said Baraka. “You think what went down with the low-riders was nasty business? Think again, Juice. I’m talking about scores being settled all over the Quad. Settled in blood. And if you didn’t belong to one side or the other, you were fucked, because either side would kill you in a heartbeat. Kill you or fuck you over real good. You think that shit didn’t do in the head of the Baby, who was already walking on the edge of the cliff? You think all the shit you survive don’t make you a little crazy over the years? I seen that look on Kinney’s face before, Juice. I seen it – and it ain’t good.” Baraka held out his hand and Ben shook it, tentatively. “Now we understand each other, dig?”

“Maybe,” said Ben, warily. There wasn’t a lot of understanding between the races in Stanton, but one thing Ben did know was that Brian and Baraka had some kind of tenuous friendship that went back years. And that friendship was very rare between a black inmate and a white one.

“You have one of your queens talk to Loretta,” said Baraka. “She knows all the shit going down in the South. Ask her. She’ll tell your queen what you need to know. But do it fast.”

“Ask about what?” asked Ben. It was like Baraka was talking in code.

“Do it. Fast,” he repeated.

And then Baraka walked away, back to the South Wing.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to July 1973 and the prison riot known as The Happening.
> 
> Just a warning that these flashback have violence and the suggestion of worse, so be aware before you read them.

Chapter 7

 

Flashback to July 1973

 

One minute the sun was shining on a beautiful day and the next minute all hell broke loose in the Yard.

Brian heard the war begin before he saw it. He and Ron were leaning against the North Wing wall, taking a break from the stuffy Law Library and having a smoke on a very hot day.

Then something crashed against the wall about a foot away. It was a large piece of metal that had been flung through the air. Brian immediately pushed Ron to the ground and dropped down next to him.

Someone was screaming. Then a lot of men were screaming. Then the sirens in the tower went off.

“Move!” Ron yelled. “We have to get inside!”

Across the Yard the Brothers and the Aryan Warriors were battling with homemade weapons, chunks of concrete, and planks of wood from a broken picnic table.

Ron and Brian crept to the door of the North Wing and pulled it open, trying to get the hell out of the way. 

But they were overtaken by a small contingent of the Brothers, who were also escaping the Yard.

“In here, muthafuckers!” the black inmates shouted, pushing Brian and Ron before them into the Chapel, where they began barricading the door with tables and folding chairs.

“Is that really necessary?” asked Ron. “If the C.O.’s think that you’re trying to....”

“Shut the fuck up!” said Turner, the leader of the group. Turner was in Stanton for burglary, but he called himself a political prisoner. “This ain’t about the C.O.’s! This is a war with them skinhead muthafuckers, the Aryans!”

“Then I think it’s best if we all keep our heads and lay low until this skirmish is over,” Ron suggested. “That way no one will get hurt.” 

Turner walked over the Ron. He looked the lawyer up and down, but Ron stared back at him, unafraid. This lawyer was a smart-ass bastard. He had prepared Turner for his meeting with the Parole Board, but he didn’t get his parole. That lawyer was worthless. He needed to be taught who was the boss now.

Turner slapped Ron sharply. “That’s what I think of what you think, lawyer!” Turner motioned over two of his compatriots, who pushed Ron and Brian down on the floor, their backs against one of the chapel pews. “What you think we got here, brothers? A couple of fucking spies?”

“Looks like it,” one of the men grinned. “Spies!”

“If you think that the Aryans would use a Jew and a faggot for spies, then you had better rethink things,” said Ron, rubbing his jaw.

“You don’t tell me what to think, white man!” said Turner, dangerously. “This is a war! This is between US and THEM! And I can take one look at you and know where you belong, lawyer.”

“And I’m only telling you to think again if you believe that the Aryans wouldn’t kill my associate and myself at least as quickly as they would kill any of you,” Ron reasoned. “It isn’t simply a matter a race, Mr. Turner. It’s a matter of ideology.”

“Someone shut up this muthafucker before I have to kill him!” urged Turner, pulling out a shank made out of a metal bed-slat. “You want to be quiet permanently, lawyer? Or you gonna keep still – like your bitch here?” Turner nudged Brian with his foot and then touched Brian’s cheek with the tip of the shank.

“I think I’ll keep still,” said Ron. And Brian breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good idea,” said Turner. “Now fix these two up good and tight.”

The youngest of Turner’s men, a serious-faced car thief who had adopted the name Baraka since he’d been in prison, demanded Brian’s workshirt. Brian slipped it off. The other inmate ripped it into strips and tied Ron’s and Brian’s hands behind their backs.

The noise outside had grown louder until it sounded more and more like a full-scale battle in progress. A piece of concrete came flying through the stained glass window of the chapel.

“Shit!” cried Turner. “Pull them benches all around here! Anything you can move, suckas! Before they get inside here!”

The inmates began ripping up the pews and piling them in a circle to make a defensible nest within the chapel. They dragged a large screen off the altar and put it in front of the broken window.

Someone began pounding on the door of the chapel and there was a shouted exchange between Turner and the men outside. “It’s Cal and the Dawg,” said Turner. “Let ’em in.”

Two more members of the Brothers rushed into the chapel – and they had two of the South Wing C.O.’s with them. And they had the C.O.’s batons and pistols.

Brian had been apprehensive before, but now he was terrified. It was one thing for inmates to hole up with some pieces of pipe and homemade shanks for weapons, but quite another thing for them to have guns taken from guards. If the C.O.’s decided to take back the chapel, they’d shoot first and sort out who was in rebellion and who was a hostage after the fact.

The two C.O.’s had been beaten badly. One was bleeding from the mouth and forehead, while the other was dragging a broken leg. The pair were pushed down to the floor, then bound and gagged with pieces of their own uniforms.

Brian and Ron watched quietly as the other inmates built up the barricade at the door, as well as the only other entrance, the door that led from the Sanctuary into the robing room and office behind the altar. 

But Ron shook his head. He couldn’t remain silent another second. “You’re making a mistake, Mr. Turner.” 

“Are you talking again, lawyer?” barked Turner in exasperation. 

“I thought your war was with the Aryans, Mr. Turner, not with the C.O.’s,” Ron pointed out. 

“Them skinhead muthas started this – but WE gonna finish it!” Turner stated, and his men all agreed.

“By taking other prisoners hostage? By taking guards?” Ron huffed. “That’s the way to bring the entire prison staff down on your heads. It’s not about a turf war anymore, Mr. Turner. It’s about whether we are all going to survive.”

“This ain’t about turf! We’re fighting a revolution here, lawyer!” Turner snapped.

“What does taking C.O.’s have to do with the revolution?” asked Ron. “They’re only cogs in the system. They aren’t the Administration, Mr. Turner. They aren’t the ones who you should be fighting. It’s the power that runs the prison. And violence isn’t the way to fight that kind of conflict!”

“Baraka!” Turner shouted. “You hear this white muthafucker and his big mouth?”

“I hear him,” said the younger inmate, glaring at the lawyer and his bitch. 

“If he starts mouthing off again I want you to shut his trap for him – with this!” Turner handed Baraka another homemade weapon, a thin shiv that Turner had pulled out of his shoe. “You in charge of these two.” 

“Why don’t you put a gag on ’em, like on the bulls over there?” asked Baraka, gesturing at the C.O.’s.

“Because I wanna see just how far this fucking lawyer will go,” Turner smirked. “I wanna see him open his mouth one more time – so we can close it for him! And now I wanna see what we got in the way of ‘government issue’ over here!” Turner moved towards the two bound guards.

“Jesus,” breathed Ron as he and Brian watched Turner and his two lieutenants, Cal and Ameer, work over the captured C.O.’s. “I think I better be quiet for a while.”

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” whispered Brian. His heart was beating so fast that he was sure the young inmate who was guarding them could hear it.

“Probably,” said Ron, calmly. “And if they don’t kill us, then the C.O.’s who clean this place out will. Which means that either way, Baby, we’re just as dead.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of the Flashback to July 1973. Brian and Ron are hostages in the chapel.

Chapter 8

 

Flashback to July 1973

 

He had been given the job of guarding the lawyer and his punk, but Baraka’s eyes kept moving over to Turner and the men who were taking out their fury on the two captive guards. It had progressed from punches and kicks to something much more personal. Something sexual. Something more about frustration and individual retaliation than about the solidarity of the Brothers and what they supposedly stood for. Pride. Fighting against injustice. Getting your due in a racist society. That’s what Baraka thought it was all about. Not about humiliating and jacking off all over two helpless men.

Baraka turned his head away in disgust. The fucking lawyer was right. This wasn’t about the revolution. There was no fucking revolution! And it wasn’t about the Aryans, either. The Aryans were just a bunch of stupid redneck honkies who thought they deserved to run the fucking world, but who couldn’t even control their little piece of a prison playground. 

No, this was all about Turner and his power. And about what Turner could do because he was able to do it in this single room on this hot, stifling afternoon. Because in this crummy little corner of a two-bit medium security prison Turner was God for one day.

Baraka knew that Turner would kill the guards the first chance he got, even if it meant that he would be killed for it. Even if it meant that they all would get killed. Because for Turner it was about anger and vengeance. It was about Turner’s own damaged pride. About making his mark, even if it was made in his own blood. And made in the blood of everyone else holed up in the chapel.

Baraka watched the lawyer and the kid, who sat quietly as the minutes ticked on. Everyone in the Quad knew the two of them. Turner knew they had nothing to do with the Aryans. The lawyer was right – the redneck muthafuckers would kill a Jew and a queer in a heartbeat. So the two belonged nowhere in this fight. Except that they were caught in the middle of it. And they would pay the price along with everyone else.

The Baby. That’s what they called the lawyer’s bitch. In a world where real bitches were unavailable, the Baby was top-of-the-line. Baraka wasn’t into white pussy, but he could see why men desired this one. He had a long, slender body that Baraka often saw revealed as the white kid ran around the track in the morning, looking as if he was about to fly. He was also soft and smooth, but not loud and queeny like some bitches. The Baby was something you could stand to have in your cell all day and then in your bunk all night. 

The kid leaned his head against the lawyer’s shoulder. The lawyer’s hands were tied behind him, but he curved his left arm out to hold the kid up. That’s the way they always were. Joined at the fucking hip. You never saw one without the other and they all said that the lawyer never, ever let the Baby out of his sight, so it would be fitting when they both died here together.

The Baby opened his eyes and looked directly at Baraka. His eyes were as wide and dark green as a cat’s. Baraka almost gave the sign for the Evil Eye that his grandmother used to ward off bad luck. But it was too late for that. Bad luck had already made itself at home.

A fly buzzed overhead in the hazy heat. It was still on the Yard now. Ominously still. As the afternoon wore on and nothing happened Turner grew restless. He was bored with the C.O.’s. They were either unconscious or so numbed that it was useless to fuck with them anymore. So Turner paced back and forth, tapping the confiscated pistol against his hip as he moved like a caged lion.

“You awful quiet now, lawyer,” said Turner. “You run out of things to say?”

“You told me to shut the fuck up, so I’m shutting the fuck up,” Ron replied. 

He shifted slightly. The ties on Ron’s wrists were biting into his flesh and a piece of wood from the pew was digging into his back. But he couldn’t let Brian know that he was uncomfortable. Couldn’t let Brian know that Ron was afraid. 

Ron was used to putting up a front. Used to lying – or revising the truth. But not to Brian. He had been the one person who Ron felt he could be honest with. He wasn’t Ron’s wife or his client or someone Ron was trying to play. Brian wasn’t any of those things. So why did Ron feel the need to play this role now? To be the man. To protect his punk, his kid, his... associate. Why did it matter so much at the end?

“This your bitch, right?” said Turner. He stood over the two men and looked down at where they sat. “You keep this pussy on a tight leash, don’t you lawyer? You like keeping this for yourself. Is it that good? That sweet?”

“Brian is my assistant,” said Ron, gritting his teeth. “And I take care of him.”

“Yeah, we all know how the man takes care of a punk in prison!” Turner laughed and Cal and the Dawg laughed with him. “But we all in this together now. Ain’t that so, lawyer? In the revolution we all work for a common goal. We all share the shit we got.”

It had been hours since Brian or any of the men had drunk any water. Two of the inmates had searched the robing room, looking for wine, but they hadn’t found anything. And the faucets in the sink weren’t working. All of the water and electricity to the building had been turned off. 

Brian was sweating with the boiling heat, but also with intense anxiety.

Turner slowly ran his pistol down the side of Brian’s smooth face.

“Stand up, bitch,” Turner snapped.

Baraka frowned and he stood up first. “What the fuck, Turner?”

“Back off, Brother,” Turner ordered. “I’m only seeing what I got here.” Then he said, louder, “I said to stand up, bitch!”

“Don’t do it Brian!” said Ron. “Stay where you are!”

Turner pointed to Ron. “Show him your shiv, Baraka.”

The young inmate hesitated. But Turner was his leader. His Brother. This white man was nobody. Baraka took out the thin shank and pressed it against Ron’s neck.

“You interrupt again and you’re gonna feel it, lawyer,” said Turner.

“Brian – don’t,” Ron said. And Baraka pricked the tip of the homemade blade into Ron’s neck until a single drop of blood ran down.

Brian immediately stood up. 

His legs felt stiff and wobbly from sitting so long on the floor and it was difficult to keep his balance with his hands bound behind him, but he stood as straight as he was able. He made his face a mask. Made himself blank for what he knew was coming.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more flashback to July 1973 for now.
> 
> Warning for the suggestion of violence.
> 
> Remember that this is a story about prison and that means some very unpleasant stuff. But also remember that this is in Brian's past -- I want you to know what he's survived. But he has survived. So please keep that in mind.

Chapter 9

 

Flashback to July 1973

 

Brian squeezed his eyes shut.

The tighter he kept them closed the more he could pretend he was somewhere else.

He had learned that early in his life. 

When he was very little he had seen a movie. He didn’t remember where he had seen it or anything else about it, but he recalled that in that movie there was a beautiful valley surrounded by mountains. And living in that valley was a golden horse with a white mane and tail.

Brian remembered how quiet and peaceful it seemed in that place. How blue the sky was. And birds soared above the valley, their wings stretched out on the wind.

That night – or not long after – his father came home drunk. Again. He yelled and threw things. Brian heard his mother crying. Brian was in his bed and he was afraid. It was dark in his room and he was terrified of the dark.

So the little boy had closed his eyes and suddenly he was in that valley. He was running. Feeling the green grass under his bare feet. Feeling his hair whipping around his face. He felt all golden and white, like the beautiful horse. And no one could ever catch him. Not his father or his mother. Not anyone.

And the valley slipped into his dreams. Through the long, dark nights he could drift there, alone, but happy. And free.

Until he woke up. Until someone shook him out of his dream. Out of his fantasy.

“Stop daydreaming!” his mother would shout. Or his teacher. Or his old man, who added a slap across the back of his head. “Wake up! You’re useless, sitting around staring into space. What are you? A moron?”

But that was the only place that was his. The only thing that belonged to him. And no one could take it away from him.

Sometimes when he was running around the track that circled the Yard, he dreamed that he was there once again. Running, like the golden horse. Or flying, like the soaring birds. He could forget where he really was, or what was really happening to him.

That’s what had gotten Brian through the months in the low-riders’ tip. Because he wasn’t actually there. He was gone, very far away. The drugs the bikers gave him helped him to get there. He was grateful for the drugs, but he could get there without them, too. As long as he could close his eyes. As long as....

“Take off your shirt,” Turner barked.

Brian felt the cold nose of the pistol against his cheek. His workshirt had already been torn up to be used to tie him and Ron, so he was only wearing his tee shirt.

“I can’t,” said Brian. “My hands.” They were bound behind his back.

“Shit,” Turner grinned. “No problem.” He handed the pistol off to Cal and ripped the front of Brian’s tee shirt to bare his chest. “Nice tits, huh, Cal?” said Turner, helping himself.

“Nice,” Cal agreed, touching the kid’s smooth shoulders. “Real nice.”

“What about you, Baraka?” Turner asked. “You want some of this?”

But Baraka’s face was like stone. “No thanks, Brother. That’s not what I’m here for!”

“You here for whatever I say you here for, Brother!” Turner snapped. 

Fucking Baraka! He was too serious, man! He didn’t understand that you had to take what you could get, when you could get it. Nobody was gonna give you nothing for free, especially not in the joint. The Baby was something off-limits and that made it all the sweeter. The lawyer would never let anybody else touch that fine ass. But now the lawyer didn’t have a choice. Now Turner was in charge! And he was gonna have what was there to take.

Baraka looked down at the lawyer, who was staring straight ahead. Watching, but unable to move. Unable to act. Impotent in every way.

In prison you were used to being powerless, Baraka thought. You were used to being humiliated. Black men, white men – it didn’t matter. Who gave a shit? Who cared what happened to one man? Or one kid? Baraka turned his face away from what was being done to the Baby.

Long ago Brian had given up the idea that he would ever be human again. Since he had been with Ron, he often felt that he had been given a second chance. He had his name again. He had a purpose to his existence. Brian felt that at least one man acknowledged that he was a human being and not merely a thing. 

But that had been a mistake. Brian knew that now. This was what Brian really was – a body to be used by the strongest man in the room. To be used and then discarded. Brian knew that Turner and his men would kill him when they were finished with him. And they would kill Ron, too, along with the captured C.O.’s. And then Turner and the others would be killed in their turn. And nothing would change. Not a fucking thing. Stanton would go on as before. And no one would care. There would be no one left to care.

That beautiful place seemed closer than ever. Brian reached out his mind to it, closing off the pain in his body. If only he could run. If only he could fly.

Then he would be safe. There and nowhere else.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late night talk.

Chapter 10

 

January 1979

 

Justin opened his eyes and sat up in bed.

For a moment he didn’t know where he was.

And then he remembered. His mother’s condo. In Pittsburgh. Not in Stanton. Not in the Quad. Not in E-320 with Brian.

Something was terribly wrong.

Justin switched on the lamp next to his bed. His mother had moved most of the things from his room in their house into this room, but it wasn’t the same. Because Justin wasn’t the same. The same posters were on the walls – a travel poster of Italy, David Cassidy with his shirt off, Queen. And the same books were on the shelf – paperbacks of ‘The Great Gatsby’ and ‘A Farewell To Arms’ from his Honors English class at St. James, all three volumes of ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ an old hardcover copy of ‘Alice in Wonderland.’ Even a baseball glove from Little League had been carefully placed on top of Justin’s dresser. The entire room was like a little shrine to a Justin who once had been. The Justin his mother remembered.

But there was nothing of Justin’s present. None of his drawings of Brian. None of the remnants of Stanton that he had brought back with him from the Quad. Justin was only waiting here, in this sterile, stuffy space. Waiting for when he could move into his new apartment. Waiting for his new life to begin.

Waiting for Brian to be freed.

Justin looked at the clock. It was 4:30 a.m. He would have to get up soon and get ready for his first day of work at the Liberty Diner. The Saturday morning shift. Mrs. Novotny had warned him that it would be busy, so he better be wide awake for his shift. Justin could go back to sleep for another half hour, but....

But something was definitely wrong. Justin could feel it.

“Brian?” he whispered aloud. “Brian!”

Justin climbed out of bed and looked out the window. It had snowed again last night and the street in front of the condo hadn’t been plowed. The light looked eerie and the whole world seemed strange and ominous.

“Brian, I know you’re there,” Justin prayed. “Why won’t you answer my letters? Why won’t you come down to the Gallery and see me? Even for an hour – even for a fucking minute! That’s better than nothing. Please don’t shut me out! Because I’m not going to give up! I’m not going to forget you! You can’t make me forget you.”

Justin switched off the light and tried to go back to sleep until his alarm went off, but it was impossible. He kept seeing Brian’s face in his mind’s eye. But that face was obscured, like it refused to come completely into focus.

Justin got out of bed again and slipped on his terry cloth bathrobe. He pushed open the door of his bedroom and padded down the hallway, not wanting to wake up anyone else.

But the light was on in the kitchen. Justin was surprised to find Ron sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and an untouched piece of toast in front of him.

“What are you doing up so early?” asked Justin. He sat in the chair across the kitchen table from his mother’s boyfriend. And his lover’s ex-lover. Jesus, thought Justin, what a complicated life! Why wasn’t anything ever simple?

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ron replied. He turned the glass of milk between his fingers. Such simple things. A glass. Milk. Toast. A table. A warm kitchen. But not so simple if you were in prison. Not so simple for someone locked in a cell for 10 long years.

“Me neither,” Justin admitted.

Ron stared up into Justin’s eyes. Ron’s eyes were blue, like Justin’s, but they were more like steel than Justin’s sky blue eyes. Ron’s eyes had a hard, metallic edge. They cut into you. But tonight they were softened somehow. Muted.

“Brian is in trouble and I don’t know what to do about it,” Ron said bluntly.

Justin flinched. “I was dreaming about him just now. But he’s... he’s far away. And I don’t mean the distance between here and Stanton. I mean that he’s getting away from me. He’s getting away from all of us, Ron!”

“I know,” said Ron. “I tried to talk to Horvath. And I sent a message to Dr. Caputo. But there’s not much they can do with an inmate who is... who is just not THERE!” Ron ran his fingers through his graying hair. “Until Brian tries to harm himself they won’t put him on suicide watch. Horvath thinks I’m being hysterical. He thinks I’ve cried wolf about Brian too many times before. But... but I can’t stand to see Brian fade away like this! Especially not now when he has so much going on!”

“You mean his book?” Justin nodded. “People are reading ‘The New Yorker’ and Brian is sure to get a book deal! Brian will be famous – I know he will!”

“But that’s not all, Justin,” said Ron. He hesitated. Justin was the last person in whom he should confide. And yet Justin was the only person who really understood what was at stake. The only person who loved Brian as much as Ron did himself. And that made them rivals, but it also made them allies.

“What?” said Justin, anxiously.

“We... we have a real lead on the guy who set Brian up,” said Ron. “If we can get him to turn himself in, to make a deal with the cops and tell the truth about what really happened at Penn State, then Brian might get a new trial. Or he might even get a reduction of his sentence on a lesser charge, which would mean that... that he could get out with time already served. He could get out soon. Very soon.”

“Oh, God!” Justin pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying not to let his emotions get away from him in front of Ron.

“That is... if Brian doesn’t lose his mind before it happens,” Ron added.

“What the fuck do we do?” Justin asked. 

“This has happened to Brian before,” said Ron. “After... after something bad that we both survived.” Ron looked down at his hands, which were clenched in front of him on the table. “Did you ever hear about ‘The Happening,’ Justin?”

Justin frowned. “Isn’t that a song? An old song? About a love-in or something like that?”

Ron shook his head. “It’s something that took place at Stanton in the summer of 1973. A riot on the Yard between some skinheads and the black gang that spread through the entire prison. The black inmates called it ‘The Happening’ with great irony. It... it....” Ron paused. Justin noticed that Ron’s hands were trembling. “It was horrible. Worse than horrible. A lot of men were killed, both by other inmates and also by the C.O.’s and the National Guard when they retook the place. Brian and I were... we were in the middle of it. We were almost killed.”

Justin’s eyes widened. “Why didn’t Brian tell me about this? I don’t remember anything like that in his manuscript!”

“It’s not in there,” said Ron. “He either destroyed those pages or else he couldn’t bring himself to write about it.” Ron shook his head. “Things were done to Brian then... things I still can’t talk about. Can’t think about.” 

“What kinds of... of things?” asked Justin.

“I can’t....” Ron blinked his eyes, as if trying to wipe something out of his sight. “So don’t ask me. And don’t ask Brian about it – ever! It wasn’t so much physical, Justin, as an assault on his whole being. Brian has scars, but you can’t see them. They’re inside. It was like... like the last straw for Brian. And it almost broke him, except....”

“Except what?” Justin coaxed. “Tell me!”

“That riot was what got Brian writing in the first place,” said Ron. “It was the only way I could think of to make him get all of his demons out of his head! I thought that if he started writing a journal about what had happened to him in his life then he could have a place to let out all of that pent up emotion. Because I knew that Brian was about to crack. He was so fucking traumatized by everything that had happened to him in the Quad that... that he couldn’t handle it any longer. I was afraid that he was going to kill himself.”

“Why did you think that?” Justin said fearfully.

“Because I found out that he was hoarding pills,” said Ron. “And I knew that he was hoarding them for one reason.”

“That’s why you asked Emmy to find out if he was hiding pills in his cell!” Justin breathed. “You’re really afraid that... that he’s going to kill himself!”

“Yes, and that’s why I asked Emmett to destroy anything he found,” Ron sighed. “But that’s just a stop-gap measure, Justin. Because if a man doesn’t want to live, you can’t make him live. You can’t force him to care about life when it no longer has any meaning for him. And that’s what I’m afraid of. Brian’s book doesn’t matter to him, and his work doesn’t matter to him anymore. Nothing seems to matter to him. So he’s... away. You know what I’m talking about, Justin. You understand what I mean.”

Justin swallowed. “The beautiful place. Where he escapes when he can’t deal with things. He sent me there, too, after... after the bikers ganged me. When the doctor was trying to fix me up. He told me about it while he held me. And then when everyone thought Brian was dead, I used to go there in my head, too. But I came back. We both came back.”

Ron looked into Justin’s eyes. “But one day Brian won’t come back. And then it’ll be too late. Do you know what I’m saying, Justin?”

“Yes,” said Justin. “I know what you’re saying.” 

“Then you understand why I’m so fucking worried,” Ron replied. “And why I feel so fucking helpless.” It wasn’t the first time Ron had felt so impotent. And he didn’t want to think about that time in the chapel. Didn’t want to think about what he had seen done there. 

Justin stood up. “I have to get ready to go to work. This is my first day at the diner, remember?”

“Right,” said Ron. “We’ll have to get you a car soon. You can’t keep driving Jen’s car everywhere.” Ron stared down into the whiteness of the cold milk.

Justin walked back to his room and shut the door behind him. He looked out the window. It was getting lighter out and the fresh snow reflected that light, sparkling like a million diamonds.

“Brian!” Justin whispered. “I know you can hear me! Listen to me – please. Come back! I need you! Don’t leave me alone here, Brian. Come back from that beautiful place! Until we both can go there together.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmy has an important meeting.

Chapter 11

 

January 1979

 

“Please have a seat, Miz Emmy,” said Loretta, inviting the white queen into her abode. Everyone in the Quad knew that Emmy, the self-appointed den mother of the East Wing queens, had crossed over the invisible line and was confabbing with the undisputed leader of the South Wing black queens.

“Thank you kindly, Miz Loretta,” said Em, sashaying inside.

Emmy glanced around. Loretta indicated a stool covered with an embroidered cloth and Emmy sat herself down on it, crossing her legs in a very ladylike manner. It wouldn’t do to offend Loretta on her own turf. South Wing queens were extremely fussy about things like that.

“Tea?” asked Loretta. She had a pan of water heating on a makeshift stove made out of a coffee can.

“Yes, please,” said Em. “And I brought you this little token of my esteem.” It didn’t do to visit someone as important as Loretta without bringing a gift. Em pulled out a small jar of sugar. She had tied a pink bow around it for a festive touch.

“Why, what a fine thought, Miz Emmy,” said Loretta. She took the jar and set it on her shelf.

Emmy took in Loretta’s crib. She had some colorful bedspreads tacked up to decorate the walls and her extensive collection of scarves and blouses hung on hooks. Loretta also had a large pile of movie magazines stacked on the floor and photos of her favorite stars and role models – Diana Ross, Barbra Streisand, and Billie Holiday – were arranged over her bunk.

“My pleasure, Miz Loretta,” Emmy replied.

Loretta produced the tea and poured two cups. Then they sat and sipped for a few minutes before getting down to the matter at hand.

“Your white boy,” said Loretta. “The Baby. He been coming over here to make buys. That’s what you wanted to know and that’s what I’m telling you.”

Emmy took a deep breath. “What’s he been acquiring, if I may ask, Miz Loretta?”

“Pills,” said Loretta. “Painkillers, mainly. Percodan. Darvon. Whatever he can get. Also some sleeping pills. All downs.”

“Nothing harder?” Emmy inquired. “No smack?”

“No,” said Loretta, flatly. “I would know if he was gettin’ the hard stuff. Dope is in short supply lately and it’s expensive. If your white boy was buying smack he’d be over here every day – and he ain’t. Plus, he’d need works. He’d need needles and a spoon to cook the junk. You find anything like that in his crib?” Baraka had obviously told Loretta that Em had been searching Brian’s cell while he was out of it.

“No, I haven’t,” admitted Emmy. “Nothing like that.”

“That’s good, then,” said Loretta, setting down her cup of tea. “He could be taking some of them pills every day. Lots of guys hooked on painkillers.”

“He may be taking some of them,” said Em. “But he’s storing them up, too. I found a stash of pills under his bunk and another stash behind his books. I took them and flushed them down the toilet.”

“That means he’ll be over here for more,” Loretta sniffed. “So what you want me to do, Miz Emmy? Baraka says I should do whatever you say. I’m under orders, as they say.” Loretta tossed her head, sending her long braids flying.

“Cut him off,” said Em. “Completely. If Bri Baby comes over here, send him back home. Can you do that? Can you make the people who are dealing him the pills stop?”

Loretta raised a carefully painted eyebrow. “I can do what I like, Miz Emmy! This is MY Wing.” Then her voice lowered. “Besides, if Baraka say it should stop, then it’ll stop.”

“And Baraka says it will stop.”

Both queens looked up to see the leader of the Bros standing at the entrance of Loretta’s cell.

“Hey, honey!” Loretta greeted him. But Emmy noted that Loretta seemed nervous to see the man at her door. Maybe Baraka’s power was so great in the South Wing that even his mere appearance was enough to rattle Loretta.

“Get lost,” Baraka ordered. “Now!”

Loretta jumped up like she’d been stung and hustled out of her own cell, leaving Em sitting on the little stool with Baraka looming over her.

Em swallowed nervously. She had never spoken to the infamous leader of the Bros before and, frankly, she was afraid of him. In the South Wing Baraka’s word was law, especially since the demise of the low-riders.

“You talk to the lawyer lately?” Baraka asked.

Emmy nodded. “In the Visitors’ Gallery. He and Bri Baby’s punk came to see him, but Brian wouldn’t leave his cell. Ron is very worried about Brian. He told me to search for the pills. Ron said that Brian had... had tried to hoard them before. Back when he was Ron’s punk.”

Baraka’s face was impassive, but his mouth twitched. “I remember.” Baraka paused, as if considering something. He was ordinarily a man of few words, especially with white inmates. But the exceptions to that had always been Ron and Brian. Em knew that Baraka had spoken to them regularly and had often conferred with them in the Law Library. Baraka had even come over to the Hospital Wing to visit Brian while he was recovering from his stabbing.

“How much you know about ‘The Happening’?” Baraka asked.

Emmy shrugged. “As much as anyone in Stanton who wasn’t here back then.” Em knew that not many guys were still in the joint who had lived through the riot of ’73. But Brian had. And, Em realized, so had Baraka.

“I was there,” Baraka confirmed. “So was the lawyer. And Brian. We was all there.”

“Was it... really bad?” Em knew that a number of men had been killed during the riot. It was the most infamous event in the history of Stanton, although it was considered bad luck to talk about what had happened on that bleak July day. 

“Bad enough,” said Baraka, abruptly. “Worse than you can picture – if you can picture men being destroyed. And not only men killed, but their souls destroyed. It almost destroyed me. Almost did in the lawyer. And the Baby, too. But we still alive. We survived.” Baraka glared down at Emmy. “And we gonna keep surviving, too. That’s how we know that the Man didn’t win in the end. That’s how we know that there’s still something to work for. Maybe there won’t be no revolution. Maybe not. But the struggle goes on. You know what I’m saying?”

“I think so,” said Em, hesitantly. She knew nothing about Baraka’s revolution and didn’t want to know about it. It sounded dangerous. And very messy. “You think that Bri Baby will be all right?”

“I don’t know,” Baraka conceded. “But we all gotta do what we gotta do. No more drugs will come out of the South Wing for the next month. Nothing. Not for nobody. That’s all I can promise. And your boy can’t come in here again. We stop him if he tries. I give my word on that. But you gotta do your part, too.”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” Em promised.

“I’m holding YOU to it, cracker!” Baraka maintained. “And all of your men in the East. You keep Brian alive. Do what you have to do, but do it right.”

Em gulped. “We’ll try. Lord knows, I’ll do my best.”

Baraka narrowed his eyes at Emmy. “See that you do – or you’ll answer to me.” Baraka turned to leave the cell. “Now get your white sissy ass back to your own wing.”

Em stood up. “Thank you for doing this, Mr. Baraka. I don’t know why you’re doing it, but I’m certainly glad that you are. For Bri Baby’s sake.”

“I pay my debts,” said Baraka. “I owe your boy.” Baraka shook his head. “I owe him my life. And I ain’t forgotten that. I’ll never forget that. Never.”

“Your life?” said an astonished Em. “How?”

But the black inmate didn’t say another word. Em watched him stride out of the cell and down the tier.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final flashback to July 1973.
> 
> The end of "The Happening."
> 
> Warning for violence.

Chapter 12

 

Flashback to July 1973

 

When Turner and his compatriots finished with Brian they left him lying on the floor of the chapel.

There was no escape, thought Brian. Not even to his beautiful place. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind there. He kept being dragged back into the bitter reality of what was happening to him – now, in the last moments of his life.

Brian’s face was pressed against the filthy floor. There was a crisscross pattern in the linoleum. Crisscross. Crisscross. He lifted his head slightly, trying to turn to look over at Ron, but he felt the chilly nose of Turner’s pistol against the back of his neck.

“I’m looking to put this bitch out of its misery,” said Turner. “What you say, Cal?”

“Do it,” said Cal. “Let’s see how big a hole that mutha can blast.”

“No!” Ron cried. And he flung himself across the floor to reach Brian.

“Shit,” Turner said in disgust. “You wanna go first? That what you want, lawyer?”

“I’m sorry, Baby,” whispered Ron. His hands were still tied behind his back, but he pulled himself against Brian’s still form. “There was nothing I could do! Please forgive me. Please!”

Turner moved the pistol to the back of the lawyer’s head. It didn’t matter to him which of these crackers was wasted first. Didn’t matter at all. They was dead already.

“Wait, Brother.”

Turner looked up. Baraka was standing there, staying his hand.

“What you fucking with me for?” Turner spat.

“They laying for us outside, Brother!” said Baraka. “You know that. It’s too quiet out there. So you gonna waste two good bullets on this trash?” Baraka kicked at Ron with the toe of his hard prison shoe. “Save your fire for the Man! Because he coming, Turner! He coming soon!”

“The brother is right, Turner,” said Ameer, nervously. They were all holding their breath.

Turner backed away. He cradled the pistol against his chest. It was almost time. He could feel it.

Baraka nudged Ron. “Move back to where you was, lawyer.”

“Not without Brian,” Ron said desperately.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Baraka.

Ron crawled back and sat with his back against the mangled pile of pews. Baraka helped Brian sit up and then half-dragged, half-pushed him to his place next to Ron. Brian seemed dazed and he was trembling violently.

“Listen sharp,” whispered Baraka. “I’m cutting your ties.” He reached behind the two men and silently sawed through the material that bound their hands with his homemade shiv. “Keep your hands out of sight. Right behind you there’s a pew turned over. When the shit comes down, you crawl in there. Crawl in there and stay there – until its over.”

“What about you?” asked Ron.

“I’ll be okay,” said Baraka, dismissively.

Then there was a crash. A tear gas canister smashed through the stained glass window and hit against the altar screen that was blocking it. But the canister began to leak, defusing the peppery mist throughout the chapel.

At the same moment there was a pounding at the door. The C.O.’s were breaking in.

“Get the door!” shouted Turner, covering his face with his shirt. “Take them out when they come through!”

“Now!” said Baraka, hoarsely. The tear gas was beginning to reach them. “Move your ass!”

Ron didn’t hesitate. He crawled into the opening that Baraka had indicated. The pew was long and the space was more than enough for a couple of men to escape into. 

“Brian! Come on!” Ron urged.

The door of the chapel had been breached and the folding chairs and tables that had been piled up in front of it went tumbling as the C.O.’s and other uniformed men crashed inside, shooting.

Brian grabbed Baraka’s hand and pulled him along behind him into the tunnel of the pew. “Save yourself!” Brian exhorted. “For the struggle ahead. Don’t lose yourself here.”

Baraka paused only a second to discard his shiv, tossing it behind him. And then he followed Brian into the pile, where the three of them huddled until it was over.

And it was over in a matter of minutes. Turner and the others were dead. And so were the two captured guards. The autopsies showed that they had not been killed by the pistols Turner had confiscated from them, but by the automatic weapons of the C.O.’s and the National Guardsmen who retook the chapel.

Ron, Brian, and Baraka were taken into custody. It was obvious from Brian’s condition and from the remnants of the ties on their wrists that Brian and Ron had been hostages of Turner’s gang. But Baraka was another story. Ron and the Prisoners’ Legal Defense took up the inmate’s defense and, with Brian’s testimony that Baraka had prevented them from being killed by the rebelling Brothers, Baraka got off with six months in total lockdown and isolation. But he was alive.

They were all alive. Baraka and Ron and Brian. Alive in Stanton.

For what that was worth.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1979, Baraka talks to Brian.

Chapter 13

 

January 1979

 

“You can’t give up,” Baraka said firmly. “This ain’t about you, Kinney. This is about what you can do.”

“And what’s that?” asked Brian. He was lying on the lower bunk, as usual, staring up at the bottom of the upper bunk. At the underside of the old mattress and the sagging slats that held it up. At nothing.

“Your job, Kinney!” Baraka admonished. “There’s men here who need to know the law. I’m up for parole again in the spring. What you planning to do about that?”

Brian shrugged. “You don’t need me to advise you on your parole, Baraka. You know the law as well as I do.”

“Right, Brother!” Baraka huffed. “I know so much shit! That’s why they turned me down the last two times!” 

“The PLD is sending over that paralegal twice a week to clean up the Law Office and pick up the Stanton cases,” said Brian. “He’s trained to do the job, Baraka. They don’t need me. They never needed me. Ron only used that as an excuse to keep me out of trouble – and to put me where he could keep an eye on me. That’s all it ever was.”

“You full of such bullshit, Kinney!” Baraka snorted. “You think that the men in the Quad don’t need your voice to speak up for them? You think they don’t need your knowledge? Some paralegal who’s never been in the joint is gonna understand their cases? Some fucking kid is gonna take your place? Wake the fuck up, Kinney!”

“I am awake, Baraka,” Brian replied indifferently. “You made certain of that by cutting off my supply of pills. But don’t be fooled. If I really wanted to off myself there are a thousand ways to do it. I don’t need your pills. I don’t need dope. All I need is the will.”

“Don’t fuck yourself over, Kinney!” Baraka countered. “You think you doing yourself a favor by sitting here in the dark? You think that you doing your punk a favor? You think he ain’t hurting by what you doing? Because he’s hurting! He knows what you up to. All your queeny friends are filling him in with all the fucked up details. That kid’s got enough problems as it is! What’s that doing to his head?” 

“I don’t know,” Brian muttered. “But he’ll forget. Eventually he’ll forget all about me.”

“Forget?” Baraka replied. “Shit, man! You got no idea what’s in that kid’s head! He as fucked up as you are! I don’t care if he in the joint or outside – he is fucked up! And you the only man who can understand what he’s feeling. But you’re too fucking selfish to help him! A fucking selfish cracker asshole! That’s so very fine, Kinney! You don’t care about nothing or nobody but yourself. That ain’t the man I know. That’s somebody else I don’t want to know.”

“I’m sorry,” said Brian, turning his head away. “There’s nothing I can do. It’s too fucking late.”

Baraka went to the door of the cell. “You can stay here in the dark and pretend that nothing matters, but you can’t bullshit me. Anything happens to you, Kinney, and that kid is history. So I hope you ready to face that fact. You two connected. Like two pieces of one thing that fit together. You pull those pieces apart and the whole thing don’t work. And that don’t mean just you, Kinney, but the kid, too. He won’t work right. He’ll never work right.”

“I’m not even listening to you, Baraka,” said Brian, quietly. “So why don’t you leave?”

“I’m leaving,” said the other inmate. “But don’t tell me that you never did nothing that mattered. Or that words don’t matter. Because they do. I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t. So listen to THAT, Kinney.” 

Baraka pushed open the door of the cell and almost walked right into Emmy.

“Excuse me, Mr. Baraka,” said the queen. “May I go in, please?”

“Suit yourself,” said Baraka. “I got business.” And he stalked off back to the South Wing.

“Brian?” said Emmy, going into the cell hesitantly. “Can I come in?”

“You’re already in,” said Brian, abruptly. “I can’t stop you now. This place is like Grand fucking Central Station.”

“Brian, I... I brought you something.” Emmy was clutching a large manila envelope.

“You can put my mail on the floor,” said Brian. “Then get out.”

“This isn’t your mail, Brian,” said Emmy. “It’s mine. But I thought you might want to see it.”

“I’m not interested.” Brian turned over and reached for his little radio, turning the volume knob up higher as if to drown out any other sound.

“It’s from Justin,” Em said. “He sent it to me because he knows that you aren’t opening any of his letters or packages. He didn’t want this to sit on the floor of the cell untouched like all of the others he’s sent.”

But Brian didn’t answer.

“Justin wrote me this letter,” Em continued. “And he also enclosed this picture he drew. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m going to read it to you anyway because Justin asked me to.” Em paused to wait for Brian’s reply, but there was none. “Justin writes: ‘Please take this drawing to Brian. I know that if I mail it to him he won’t open it, but maybe if you take it to the cell he’ll at least look at it. Only one look. That’s all I’m hoping for. I drew this after I had a dream. Like most of my dreams, it was about me and Brian. And about a place that only we can go to. Brian thinks that he can go there alone, but I know better. He can’t go alone. We can only go together. And if he decides that he’s going there soon, tell him that I’ll be waiting for him. I’ll be right there. That’s all you need to say. Love, Justin.’”

Emmy pulled another piece of paper out of the envelope. It was a drawing. Emmy leaned down and set it on the bunk next to Brian. “I’ll be going now,” said Em. “But I promised Justin that I would do this. And so I did.”

Em turned and left the cell, closing the door behind him.

Brian didn’t react. He listened to the radio for a few minutes until he finally reached over and snapped it off. 

Then he picked up the drawing that Emmett had left behind. Brian wanted to crumple it up and throw it across the cell, but he couldn’t. So he looked at it.

It was a drawing very much like the one already tacked to the wall next to Brian’s bunk. It showed the familiar green valley and the blue sky of his dreams. And the golden horse was running through the valley. Except that in Justin’s new drawing there were two horses running together. Two golden horses in perfect step.

Brian stared at the drawing for a long time.

“Justin,” he whispered finally. “Can you hear me?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, in a galaxy far, far away...

Chapter 14

 

January 1979

 

“You can’t hold me here against my will!” spat Kirk Bradley.

He was cuffed to the iron bedstead by one hand and both feet. He had a pillow against his back and a blanket thrown over him, but otherwise he was naked. He didn’t know what day it was or what city they were in. Jones had knocked him out with an injection of some sort and when he woke up they were in this room in an unknown place.

A.J. Jones, private investigator, was lying on the other bed, leafing through a magazine. It was a recent copy of ‘The New Yorker.’ “You should read some of the letters to the editor that are still coming in about that series on prison that they ran in December.” Jones shook his head. “Amazing what a raw deal that kid got. The boy who took the rap for the Penn State Bombings. Apparently even a few of the men on the prosecutor’s team are admitting privately that there was very little evidence against him. All they had was his admission that he drove his lover and the lover’s friends to the building and then drove them back. And all of the physical evidence they collected was from the apartment that had been abandoned by that same lover, a guy named Glenn Fitzpatrick.”

“Shut up!” whined Kirk. “Let me go! Please?” 

Jones sighed heavily. “What a scumbag that Glenn must have been. And he probably wasn’t even a faggot, either. Not at all. But he had no problem with seducing a young kid who had never even had gay sex before. No problem with making the boy think that he was in love with him. Can you imagine what that must have done to the poor kid’s head when he realized what his lover had done? That everything he believed about him was a lie? And not only that, but that the guy had purposely set him up so that the real culprits could get away scot free.”

“Quit reading that shit!” Kirk begged. “I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you anything you want. Just let me go!”

“Pay me?” Jones smiled slyly. “With what? You don’t have any money. You’ve been on the run since 1968. You’ve never held a job anywhere for longer than a year and you’ve never made much more than minimum wage. So, Kirk, you want to ask your estranged wife for it? Or maybe you’d like to contact your parents and get the cash from them? I’m sure they’d love to hear from you after all these years.”

“What do you want from me?” Kirk asked for the hundredth time.

“The truth,” said Jones, flatly. “And Justice. That’s what I want. And I’m going to get it from you, Kirk or Glenn or whoever you are. Justice for that poor kid you buffaloed. And he’s still in prison. Think about that. About what that’s been like for him. Those stories in the magazine were pretty horrific, weren’t they, Kirk? It’s bad enough going to jail on a 20-year-to-life sentence, but to be raped and beaten and drugged once you get there... that’s harsh, man. Very, very harsh.”

“I didn’t do anything!” Kirk moaned. “Nobody was supposed to get killed! Nobody was supposed to get hurt! It was an accident!”

“Accident? What did you think was going to happen when you blew up a building, Kirk?” Jones questioned. “You didn’t care if anyone was killed or hurt! You didn’t care as long as you made a big noise. As long as that building went up in a blaze of glory. But that didn’t even happen, did it? The building didn’t blow up. And all you made was a lot of smoke. But it was enough to kill that old man, the security guard in the basement. Enough for a second degree murder charge. Enough to put that kid away in prison to be tortured and raped.”

“Shut the fuck UP!” cried Kirk. “I have to piss. Please let me up?”

Jones got off the bed and walked into the bathroom. He came back with a plastic bucket. “Here you go, Kirk.”

“Let me get up and use the can. I swear I won’t try anything,” Kirk promised.

“If you’d rather piss all over yourself than use the bucket, it’s okay by me,” said Jones.

“I... I’ll use the bucket.”

Jones pulled back the blanket and held it while Kirk relieved himself.

“You still have a nice dick,” said Jones, taking the bucket. “Your body has gone to hell, but I can see how you must have been a sexy guy in your day. Tell me, did you enjoy fucking the kid? He was really beautiful. Long brown hair and green and gold eyes. Long legs and a slender body. Did you enjoy it, Kirk? Did you?”

“I said for you to shut up!” said Kirk. 

Jones nodded and took the bucket to the bathroom, where he emptied it into the toilet. Then he washed his hands and walked back into the room.

“You know something? This isn’t only a job for me, Kirk,” Jones confided. “See, I’m a faggot, too. And the whole idea of you seducing that kid so heartlessly, of using him so fucking cynically – that sticks in my queer craw. I think of that beautiful boy and what his life must have been like in prison for all of these years and it makes me sick to my stomach. Doesn’t it make you sick, too, Kirk? Don’t you feel any compassion at all for the person whose life you destroyed?”

“Let me go to sleep,” Kirk whispered. “And just stop talking about him! Please stop talking about Brian!”

“Oh,” said Jones, in surprise. “You remember his name. That means he’s an actual person to you. A real, live person. But no – I don’t want you to go to sleep, Kirk. I want you to stay awake and think about that person. About Brian. I want you to picture his face. And keep picturing it until you can’t see anything else. Can’t think about anything else. Not even in your dreams.”

“Stop it,” said Kirk. “For godsake!”

“No,” said Jones. “I won’t stop it. Not until I get what I want.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance.

Chapter 15

 

February 1979

 

“Are you doing your homework, honey?” asked Debbie.

It was after the breakfast rush at the Liberty Diner and things had slowed enough to allow Justin to sit down in one of the empty booths and take a large pad out of his bookbag.

“No,” Justin replied. “I’m drawing a picture for Brian.”

Deb looked over his shoulder and saw that Justin was sketching a bird in flight with an array of colorful pencils.

“Is that an eagle, hon?” Deb squinted at the drawing.

“No, it’s a falcon. They’re fast and they’re free,” Justin said, shading the bird’s wing. “They soar until they see their prey and then they outfly it. But falcons are also prized for their beauty as well as their speed, so they often get captured, chained, and hooded. Then they’re trained to hunt. In medieval times only noblemen were allowed to own falcons. But they were still not free.” Justin paused and gripped the pencil tightly. “But this one is free. All of the animals in my drawings are free.”

“Why are you making this picture for Brian?” Deb was puzzled. What would a prison inmate want with a picture of some bird?

“I’ve been sending him a drawing every day instead of writing him a letter.” Justin touched the paper with the tips of his fingers. “I don’t need to send him words. When he sees this, he’ll understand what I’m trying to tell him.”

Debbie shrugged. “If you say so, Sunshine, but it sounds a little nutty to me!” And she went back to the counter to take an order.

Justin had been sending the drawings to Brian for about two weeks now. He had yet to get a reply, but Justin felt that he didn’t need one. He knew that Brian was getting the pictures. Looking at them. And answering Justin in his own way. Justin no longer closed his eyes and felt only emptiness where Brian was. He knew that Brian was there. But Justin also knew that it would still be a long road until Brian came all the way back. A long road until he was as free as the bird in the drawing.

“Justin?”

He looked up to see Ron standing there. His mother’s boyfriend was bundled up in his expensive cashmere coat, unwrapping a heavy scarf from around his neck. This winter of 1979 was a very cold and very snowy one, even for cold and snowy Pittsburgh.

“Ron, what are you doing here?” Ron had never been over to see Justin at work before, although he occasionally dropped him off there before he went on to the offices of Prisoners’ Legal Defense.

“Justin, I was over at the office when I got a call from James Crossley in New York,” said Ron, his voice rising in excitement.

“James Crossley?” Justin frowned. Then he realized who Ron was talking about. “The literary agent? The one who’s trying to sell Brian’s book?”

Ron nodded. He almost couldn’t get the words out that he wanted to say. So he sat down in the booth opposite Justin and stared at the kid pointedly. 

It was funny, but when Ron got the news that morning his first reaction was to run over here and tell Justin. Because he knew that Justin was the person who would want to know the most. The person who would care the most – after Ron himself, of course.

“Crossley had two publishing houses bidding for Brian’s book, Lewis-Fisher and Company and Langford House,” Ron explained. “And they finally came to an agreement this morning. Crossley called me immediately to let me know.”

Justin’s mouth fell open. “It’s really going to be a book? Oh my God! We have to call Brian and tell him right now!”

“I know, kid,” said Ron. “But the only way is through Horvath. I’ve already called Stanton and asked for a meeting with the warden this afternoon. I’ll be driving out there right after lunch.”

“I want to go!” Justin asserted. “Maybe we’ll get to see Brian! And even talk to him.”

“I doubt that,” said Ron. “Horvath is still pissed off about the whole manuscript and the way it was smuggled out of Stanton.”

“I know,” Justin admitted. “Amy Carver got fired over it. And she lost her job at the community college, too. But she’s working as a writing instructor at Carnegie Mellon now. Wait until she hears about this! She’ll freak out!”

“Listen, Justin,” said Ron. He reached over and grabbed the kid’s hand, trying to calm him for a moment before he told him the final bit of news. “There’s one other thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Justin, suspiciously. He pulled his hand away from Ron’s.

“The advance. That’s what the bidding war was all about. Who would offer the best book deal – and the biggest advance. That’s the money that the publishing company gives the author up front before the book is published. The assumption is that if the book is a success, they’ll easily make up that money in their share of the profits.”

“So – did Brian get an advance?” Justin felt uneasy about this. Before it had been about Brian’s life and his story. But suddenly it seemed all about business. And money.

“Yes,” Ron said, taking a deep breath. “He’ll be getting an advance. One hundred thousand dollars. It’s one of the largest advances ever offered to an unknown writer for a non-fiction book. Which means that the winning publishing company, Lewis-Fisher and Company, will be promoting the hell out of it. They expect it to be a bestseller, kid. And they expect to make a lot of money. Which means that Brian will make a lot of money, too.”

Justin felt dizzy. A hundred thousand dollars! He couldn’t even imagine that amount! He knew that his own father, who was quite successful, didn’t make anywhere near that much money in a whole year and now Brian had made that much in a day! Or he had spent his entire life making it, depending on your point of view.

“But... but Brian is still in prison!” said Justin. “All the money in the world isn’t going to do him any good while he’s in the joint.”

“Now don’t worry at all, kid,” Ron soothed. “I’m going to take care of anything. We’ll put the money in the bank for when he gets out. And with that kind of cash, we can afford to get Brian the best representation possible if – when! – Brian gets a new trial. We have to think of the ways that the money can benefit Brian. And they best way to use it to get him out. And he’s going to get out, Justin. Believe me!”

Justin stared at Ron, hoping against hope. “I want to believe you, Ron, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard!”

“I know, kid.” Ron reached out and took the boy’s hand again, squeezing it. 

Justin had hands very much like Jennifer’s, Ron thought. Strangely strong and broad for such a pampered little WASP. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and a drift of golden hair went up his arms. Justin’s arms and legs were surprisingly furry, while his chest was very smooth. Ron wondered briefly if his ass was that smooth, too, but he quickly pushed that thought out of his mind. He had enough on his plate as it was!

“What do we do now?” asked Justin. “What can I do?”

“Sit tight,” Ron urged. “While we wait for the right moment to make the next move.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another inmate heard from.

Chapter 16

 

February 1979

 

February brought the flu into the Quad.

Dr. Caputo had been hoping to vaccinate as many of the inmates as possible before the expected outbreak hit, but there had been cutbacks in the state budget for prisons the previous year and the money never turned up.

Em was working double shifts in the Hospital Wing. Besides all of the sick elderly patients in the geriatric ward, the regular ward was flooded with men from both the East and South Wings who had the flu. Eventually Dr. Caputo and Dr. Gomez had to send most of these men back to their cells because there weren’t enough beds for even the sickest patients. The tiers were filled with the sounds of coughing and sneezing and soon the C.O.’s were coming down with it, too.

“Emmett!” shouted a harassed Dr. Gomez. “Please call Dr. Caputo over to geriatrics.”

Em held her head and sighed. She was about ready to drop. She’d worked three straight shifts and there was no end in sight.

“Is there something I can get you, Doc?” asked Em. Dr. Gomez and Dr. Caputo hadn’t left Stanton for the past three days and they were exhausted and irritable.

“No,” said Dr. Gomez. “But there’s an old man over there who isn’t going to last much longer. He’s one of the last of the old lifers.”

“Oh,” Em said sadly. “You don’t mean Ralph do you?”

“Yes,” Dr. Gomez nodded. “I don’t think the old man has any family at all. He hasn’t had a visitor for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Poor old thing!” said Em. And she went to look for Dr. Caputo.

Em found the doctor over on the first tier of the East Wing. He was checking each cell to see exactly how sick the inmates were. The worst cases would have to be moved to the Hospital Wing and space found for them somewhere, probably in the hallways. The biggest problem on the tiers was that if one man became sick, then his cellmate caught it, too. There was simply no way to get away from the infection. And hooked-up couples who didn’t cell together were passing the flu to each other and then passing to their cellmates. And the C.O.’s were carrying it from tier to tier, wing to wing.

“God damn it!” cried Dr. Caputo as Em caught up with him coming out of a cell. “I told Horvath that we needed that vaccine! But we’re at the bottom of the priority list. No one gives a damn if a bunch of prisoners get sick. This is a travesty!”

The only reason that the Hospital staff were still on their feet was because Dr. Caputo had brought a small supply of flu vaccine over from County General and given it to himself, Dr. Gomez, and all of the nurses and orderlies. Otherwise they would have been in very deep trouble at Stanton Correctional.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you something, Emmett,” said Dr. Caputo as they walked back to the Hospital Wing. “How much longer do you have before you’re up for parole?”

“That’s easy! Exactly eight months and three days,” said Em. “Do you want me to be more specific than that?”

Dr. Caputo smiled for the first time in days. “No, that’s fine. I was wondering what you were planning to do once you got out?”

“Not what I was doing before!” Em vowed. “I’m walking the straight and narrow from now on, Doctor C. I swear to God!”

“I’m sure you are, Emmett,” said Dr. Caputo. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be recommending you for a new training program at the local community college. It’s a practical nursing program. If you’re interested it would mean attending classes over there a few times a week and also working here with the regular nurses, learning what you can on the job.”

“Classes? Me, take classes?” Em stopped in her tracks. “You aren’t kidding about this, are you, Doctor C.?”

“No, I’m not, Em,” the doctor replied. “It’s an experimental program and I think you’re a good candidate for it. You’ll be getting out soon and I think you have a real aptitude for nursing.”

“Would I really be going out of the Quad?” Em asked in disbelief. “Would I have to be handcuffed over there?”

“No, not at all,” said Dr. Caputo. “You could wear your regular clothes and not have to deal with the transport jumpsuit or any of that crap. A C.O. would take you over, wait for you, and then bring you back after class. The other students don’t even have to know that you’re from Stanton.”

“I don’t know what to say!” Em almost felt like she was going to cry. “Do you realize what this could mean to me?” But then Em hesitated. “You know, Doctor C., I never finished high school. Does that disqualify me?”

“Not at all,” said Dr. Caputo. “This is considered a vocational program. But it will be a start for you, Emmett. Perhaps later you could train for a job as an x-ray technician or specialize in a certain area of care. When you finish this program, you’ll have a certificate. And I can easily find you a job in Pittsburgh when you get out, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Yes!” Em cried. “I’d like that! I can do it, Doctor C. I really can! And I won’t let you down.”

“Good,” said the doctor. “As soon as this damn flu season is over I’ll arrange it with Warden Horvath.”

The two reached the geriatric ward. Most of the men there were so sick and old that they hardly coughed anymore. Instead, they made weak wheezing noises. Em shuddered to hear that and crossed herself. It reminded her of the death rattle. When her grandmother died Em had heard that hollow sound right before the old lady breathed her last.

Ralph was in a corner bed. He was lying very still.

Dr. Gomez came over and shook his head. “He’s been asking to see Ron.”

“Ron?” Dr. Caputo frowned. “Ron who?”

“I think he means Ron Rosenblum,” said Em. “Ron used to come and visit Ralph from time to time.” 

“Yes,” said Dr. Gomez. “That’s what I thought, too. I told the old guy that Ron was outside now, but he forgets and asks for him again. I don’t know what else to say to him.”

“How much longer does he have?” asked Dr. Caputo.

Dr. Gomez shrugged. “He’s only just hanging on. He was ill before, but this is a knock-out punch for an old man like him. His chart says that he’s 81. He’s been in the Quad since 1958.”

“Over 20 years,” muttered Dr. Caputo as he glanced over Ralph’s chart. “Well, I’m certainly not going to call Ron Rosenblum back to this prison just to see this old man.” The doctor remembered the unpleasant run-ins he’d had with Rosenblum when his former punk, Kinney, was in County General. “I doubt he’d want to bother anyway.”

“If I may make a suggestion?” said Em. “Maybe Brian could speak to him? If old Ralph knew Ron, then he must know Brian, too.”

“I thought Mr. Kinney wasn’t communicating these days,” Dr. Caputo questioned. He’d looked in on Kinney a couple of times and, frankly, he was pretty close to being a candidate for the Psycho Ward.

“Well, he is – and he isn’t,” said Em. “But in this case, I think he will. I think Brian may want to talk to old Ralph.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian speaks to old Ralph.

Chapter 17

 

On the third tier of the East Wing almost every cell had a man down with the flu. And Brian, although he was still living alone, hadn’t escaped the epidemic.

“Bri Baby,” said Em, rattling the door. “Open up, honey.”

“Fuck off,” said Brian weakly. “I’m sick.”

“Everybody is sick, darling!” Em reminded him. “I’ve brought you some aspirin and juice. Now, will you open the door, please?”

Brian stumbled over and unlocked the door, letting Emmy inside.

“This place is a sty, Bri Baby!” said Em, looking around. “See what happens when your little maid doesn’t come around to clean up after you?”

“Who gives a fuck?” groaned Brian, kicking some dirty clothes out of the way.

Most of Brian’s packages and letters were still untouched, but Em noticed that the recent mailings from Justin – the ones containing his drawings – had been opened and the pictures were taped up on the walls.

Brian slunk back down onto the bottom bunk, holding his head in his hands. He looked thin and jittery, and his eyes were bleary.

“Why don’t they just shoot all of us, Em? This is fucking ridiculous! I’ve never felt like this before – and I’m not the only one.”

“I know, honey,” said Em. “You should go over to the South Wing. It’s even worse over there! And there’s not much we can do. Here.” Em handed Brian the aspirin and the cup of juice. “This won’t cure you, but it certainly won’t hurt.”

Brian sighed and took the aspirin, chasing the tablets with the juice. “Thanks, Em. I’m sorry I was such a bitch.” 

“I’m used to it, Bri Baby,” Em conceded. “But now that I’m here, I have a little request.”

“I should have known,” Brian huffed. “No one in this hellhole does anything without wanting something in return. Even you, Emmett!”

“It’s not like that, Brian,” said Em, grandly. “I want you to come over to the Hospital and talk to someone.”

“Dr. Caputo was already over here yesterday to see if I was still alive,” Brian replied. “I told him to fuck off, too.”

“I don’t want you to talk to Doctor C., honey.” said Em. “I want you to talk to old Ralph. He’s been asking for Ron. They keep telling him that Ron was paroled, but he keeps asking anyway. He’s dying, in case you’re interested.”

Ralph. One of Ron’s informants. The old man had been in failing health for a couple of years. Brian rubbed his red eyes.

“Give me a few minutes while I get cleaned up,” he said finally.

Em noticed how slowly Brian was moving as they headed for the Hospital Wing. Slowly and painfully. But at least he was walking. At least he was out of his cell. And talking. That was progress. Em truly believed that Bri Baby had turned a corner.

“Jesus,” said Brian, as they walked into the crowded main ward. “Can you cram any more guys in here?”

“There are more in the side wards,” said Em, grimly. “And in the hallways, too. Dr. Gomez was talking about transferring some of them over to the Chapel because there was no more space in here.”

Brian shook his head. “If I wasn’t sick already, this would make me sick.”

“I know, honey,” said Em. “Come on. This way.”

Em led Brian up the stairs to the geriatric ward. But Brian remembered. He went directly over to the bed where old Ralph had been confined for the past three years.

“Hey, Ralph,” said Brian, softly. “How’s tricks?”

“Ronnie?” rasped the elderly inmate. “Where’ve you been?”

“Ron got out, Ralph,” Brian reminded him. “He’s in Pittsburgh.”

But the old man didn’t seem able to process that information. “Ronnie, I’m glad you came. I’ve been looking for you.”

Brian turned to Em. “He doesn’t know what’s going on, Emmett. It’s pointless to try to talk to him.”

“Then why don’t you humor him, Bri Baby?” Em suggested. “If that will make him happy.”

Brian shrugged. “What the hell? Okay, Ralph, I’m here. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Naw,” breathed the old man. “I got everything I need. But I have to know. I been worried about it. Did you find him? Did you find the kid?”

Brian paused. “What kid? Who do you mean, Ralph?”

“The one you were looking for all over the joint. Did you find him over in the South Wing? In the low-riders’ tip?”

Brian recoiled. “Jesus,” he said. He glanced at Em, who seemed to be at a loss. “Yeah, Ralph. I found him. In... in the low-riders’ tip.”

“I told you so, Ronnie,” the old man wheezed. “Hiding him in plain sight. You thought it was the warden who had him in Protective Custody. But I told you the real deal. Those scuzzy bastards took the kid. But what are you going to do now?”

“I... I don’t know, Ralph,” said Brian, carefully. “What do you think I should do?”

“Con ’em, Ronnie. That’s what you do best.” The old man licked his lips. “The bikers’ll never let him go any other way. You gotta play ’em. Get ’em in your debt. It’s the only way. Then you can take the kid and there’s nothing they can do about it.”

“Why would I want to do that, Ralph? What would I do with... with a kid?” Brian asked.

“Save him,” said the old man, simply. “You can do that one thing.” Then Ralph smiled. “You’re a selfish bastard, Ronnie. I know your type. You never do nothing that doesn’t benefit yourself. Nothing that you don’t get a payback for. But this is something that will help somebody else. And you’ll get your payback, Ronnie. Some day you’ll get it. Maybe it’ll actually save you to save that kid.”

“Maybe so,” said Brian, somberly. “Maybe you’re right, Ralph.”

“I’m tired,” said the old man. “You come back and tell me when you get the kid, okay? You won’t regret it, Ronnie. You’ll see.” Then Ralph closed his eyes and dozed.

“What was he talking about, Bri?” asked Em.

“I’m not certain. But I always thought that Ron stumbled over me accidently when he was working with Cisco’s men on their legal issues,” said Brian. “We never talked about... about why Ron did it, other than the fact that he needed an assistant in the Law Library. That’s what he told me.”

“Sounds like there was more to it than that. Unless old Ralph is imagining things,” said Em.

“I don’t think so,” Brian replied. “He seemed adamant about the whole thing. Ron always used to say that Ralph knew everything that went on in the Quad. That’s what made him Ron’s best source of information. It sounds like Ron was looking for me for a while. Like he was trying to find me in the Quad. And Ralph told him where I was. That’s when Ron set out to get me. For whatever purpose he had in mind.”

“Maybe it was just like old Ralph said,” Em replied. “To help someone else. To save someone just because he could.”

“Maybe,” said Brian. “But that’s not usually Ron’s way.” Brian put his hand on his forehead. “I think your aspirin is working, Em. I don’t feel as hot as I did.”

“Come on, honey,” said Em. “I’ll get you some tea and then you hustle your butt back up to bed and rest, okay?”

“Okay,” Brian agreed.

They headed down to the staff breakroom. “One thing, Bri,” said Em. “I know that Ralph is a lifer, but Dr. Caputo says he’s always been a model inmate. A quiet, easy-going guy. What was he in for? What did he do to get a life sentence? It doesn’t say on his chart.”

“I know,” said Brian. “Ron told me. He was in for murder, Emmett. He killed his wife in a fit of jealous rage. He got life for it back in the late 1950’s. And that sentence looks like it’s about to be fulfilled.”

“Oh my,” said Em. “Well, you never can tell about a guy, can you?”

“No,” said Brian. “You can never tell.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julie plays hard ball.

Chapter 18

 

February 1979

 

“I don’t see why we should make any deals with the PLD,” said Matthews from the Prosecutor’s Office.

They were sitting in a private room in an unmarked building near the courthouse. A building where deals were sometimes made. And where promises were sometimes broken.

“Because, Mr. Matthews,” replied Julie, serenely. “We may have the ability to deliver Kirk Bradley to you. He may be willing to plead guilty as long as he’s sent to a medium security Federal prison on a reduced charge. And he may be willing to finger the other members of the Penn State Bombers cell. And I mean the REAL members of the cell. The ones who actually planned and carried out the break-in and the planting of the explosive devices. Unlike Brian Kinney, who knew nothing about what was going to happen, but who was nevertheless convicted of a laundry list of crimes.”

“We’ve been over this with you before, Miss Finch,” said Matthews. “Kinney was convicted fair and square. He was there. He drove the car. As far as we’re concerned he’s as guilty as anyone.”

Julie shook her head in disdain. “We also have statements from two members of the Prosecutor’s Office back in 1968 who worked on the case against Kinney. Both are now in private practice. They are quite troubled by the Kinney case and they’ve given us some very interesting information. Such as the fact that the lead man on the case knew that there was very little evidence against Kinney other than his admission that he drove his boyfriend, Glenn Fitzgerald, a.k.a., Kirk Bradley, and Glenn’s friends to the building and then drove them back.” Julie leaned forward. “Everyone working that case knew that the cell had set the kid up. Kinney didn’t even know the names of the people involved. All he knew were their nicknames. He didn’t know that Fitzpatrick was really Kirk Bradley. The kid didn’t know shit.”

“Ignorance is not innocence, Miss Finch,” said Matthews, with annoyance. “It makes no difference whether he knew or not.”

“Doesn’t it?” said Julie, coolly. “Yes, Brian Kinney was an accessory to the crime in that he drove the car. He admitted that readily. The kid told you the truth. He gave you what he knew. But you couldn’t catch Bradley or the rest of them. You couldn’t even get a warm sniff of any of them.” Julie turned to stare at the other man sitting at the table. A grim-faced man in a dark suit. “And neither could your men, could they? They’ve had over 10 years and they’ve come up empty. That doesn’t look too good for the Feds, does it?”

The Fed glared at Julie. This bitch had Kirk Bradley in her back pocket. He was certain of it. Sure, they had looked for the Penn State Bombers when the case was fresh. But who the hell cared about that shit now? Except for this fucking woman and the Prisoners’ Legal Defense. Julie Finch and her rag-tag bunch of paralegals were determined to make them all look like idiots.

“Kinney is in on 20-years-to-life,” said Julie. “I’m sure you’ve read his work in ‘The New Yorker.’ It’s quite eye-opening. And it’s garnering a lot of attention to his case.”

“I don’t have time to read fantasy, Miss Finch,” said the Fed, sourly.

“If you think it’s fantasy, then wait until you hear what Kirk Bradley has to say.” Julie smiled slightly. “Most of the Penn State Bombers aren’t even in hiding. Do you know that? They are so certain that you’ll never catch up with them, that you’ll never even find out their names, that some of them aren’t even using aliases anymore. Kirk was the most paranoid one of the bunch. That’s because Kinney knew him the best and was able to describe him in detail. But the others – they were more shadowy figures. Kinney saw them a few times, but he didn’t really know them. And he only knew Bradley – Glenn Fitzpatrick – because Bradley seduced him. And why did he seduce the kid? Why do you think, Mr. Matthews?” Julie asked the assistant prosecutor.

“Because he was a fag?” huffed Matthews.

“No,” Julie answered. “Because that was the best way to set Kinney up. To make him do anything Bradley wanted him to do. Kinney was only a kid. An infatuated kid. But he was all you guys had. And you nailed him to the fucking wall.”

“What is your point with all this, Miss Finch?” Matthews asked impatiently.

Julie looked the man in the eye. “You can have Bradley. He’s willing to turn himself in on the terms that I’ve outlined.” Julie opened a folder on the table in front of her. “But we want something in return.” 

“Let me guess?” sniffed Matthews. “The kid?”

“Yes,” said Julie. “We want Kinney. We want you to reduce the charges and release him on the time he’s already served. In return he will promise not to sue your ass. He will promise not to stir up any more shit to add to the mess that’s already brewing in the Prosecutors’ Office in the wake of James Stockwell’s nasty downfall. Things like charging Kinney with crimes that you knew he wasn’t guilty of. Piling everything but the kitchen sink on him, as if he were some kind of criminal mastermind instead of a dupe of the real culprits.”

“You’re bluffing, Miss Finch,” said Matthews, uneasily. He glanced over at the Fed, but that man’s face was impassive.

“Have you read this?” Julie pushed a clipping across the table. “It’s an editorial from ‘The Pittsburgh Clarion’ that was published after Brian Kinney’s story came out in ‘The New Yorker.’ It suggests that he should have a new trial. And that the methods used to prosecute him should be investigated, along with the people who prosecuted him. This editorial thinks that the abuses in your office may go back much earlier than James Stockwell’s regime. That there was something very rotten going on even in 1968.”

“It’s only rhetoric, Miss Finch,” Matthews replied.

“Is it?” Julie raised her eyebrows. “Do you really want the press on your ass? Digging up dirt? Looking into internal affairs? Snooping around and asking questions going back 10 years? Especially when you know that they’ll find irregularities. That they will find out how you railroaded Brain Kinney. Just like Kirk Bradley railroaded him. Bradley served him up on a silver platter, while the real Penn State Bombers skipped away freely. And you guys bought that platter. So what do you think the press will say if they find out that Bradley is willing to talk? That he’s willing to deal? And that he’s willing to give up the other bombers? But that your office was too stubborn to see that real Justice was done.”

“If you are harboring a known criminal, Miss Finch, it could go badly for you,” the Fed said darkly.

“I’m not harboring anyone,” said Julie. “I don’t know where the guy is and that’s a fact. You can hook me up to a lie detector and see for yourself. But it would sure make you all look stupid if Bradley showed up in some country who we didn’t have an extradition treaty with and started taking potshot at both the Prosecutors’ Office and the Feds.” Julie closed her folder. “You guys had 10 years to find Bradley – and we found him within months. How do you think that will look to the public, boys?”

“It’s a dangerous thing to play games with law enforcement authorities, Miss Finch,” said the Fed. 

“And it’s a crime when you put away people who aren’t guilty of the things they are charged with!” Julie snapped. “So, do you want Bradley? And the others? Or don’t you?”

The Fed caught Matthews’ eye. This bitch was asking for trouble. But if she could really deliver Kirk Bradley and not make a fucking stink about the rest of it, then....

The Fed nodded to Matthews.

Matthews balked, but he knew when he was backed into a corner. This would be a huge score for the Feds. The only thing his office could hope for was that they didn’t get fucked in the ass by another scandal. And after Stockwell, they couldn’t afford another publicity nightmare.

“We want him, Miss Finch,” said Matthews. “And if you want Kinney – you can have him.”

Julie stood up and the two men stood along with her. “I hope you both realize that I have this conversation on tape?” Julie tapped her briefcase.

“I assumed you would,” said the Fed. “So do we.”

“Good,” Julie said. “We’ll need to work out all of the details.”

“Yes,” said Matthews, sullenly. What the fuck? It was already out of his control.

Julie held out her hand and the Fed shook it. “Well, then, gentlemen – it’s a done deal.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justin's new job at the diner.

Chapter 19

 

February 1979

 

“I’d like a cheeseburger with bacon. And fries. And a root beer.” The guy closed the menu and handed it back to Justin. Then he licked his lips and leered. “So tell me, cutie, are you available, too?”

Justin took a deep breath and counted to 10. That’s what Deb – Mrs. Novotny – had told him to do when a guy came on to him. Which happened about 20 times a day at the Liberty Diner. Justin smiled sweetly and pointed to the menu. “Only what’s printed here or what’s on the Specials Board.”

“I think YOU are pretty special,” the guy countered while Justin rolled his eyes. “Hey, you have a tattoo.” The customer was looking at Justin’s shoulder. Justin was wearing a revealing white tank top and hip-hugging jeans. Just because Justin wasn’t planning to date these guys didn’t mean that he didn’t want a nice tip from them. “Let me see what it says.”

Justin turned to show the man his heart-shaped tattoo.

“‘Brian,’” the customer read aloud. “Who the hell is Brian?”

“My boyfriend,” said Justin, smugly. “So you better keep your hands to yourself or he might kick your ass.”

“Is that so?” the man huffed. Then he reached over and put his hand on Justin’s round ass. “What makes this Brian so tough?”

Justin stopped smiling. “He’s in prison for murder, that’s what!”

The customer pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned. “In prison! For murder? How interesting.” The guy paused. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” said Justin, grinning broadly. “Your burger will be right up, sir!”

Justin went over to the window and put the order in.

“Is that guy bugging you, Sunshine?” asked Debbie, setting down her tray.

“Not really,” said Justin. “Nothing could put me in a bad mood today, Deb.”

“What’s up? Did you win the lottery or something?” Debbie cracked.

“No,” Justin replied. “Something better than the lottery. I got a letter from Brian yesterday.”

Now Debbie was surprised. She knew that Brian hadn’t been communicating much recently. Michael was always complaining about how Brian, who he considered one of his best pals in prison, hardly spoke to him or anyone else anymore. Instead, Brian moped around his cell and acted weird. Debbie also knew that Justin had been writing to his former cellmate regularly and hadn’t been getting any response. Until now.

“Really? So what did our Bri Baby say after all this time?” Debbie snorted.

“He’s been sick, Deb,” said Justin, slowly. “I’m sure that Michelle... I mean, Michael told you that everybody in Stanton has been down with the flu.”

“Yeah, Mikey said he was puking his guts out for three days straight!” Deb confirmed.

“Brian was sick, too,” Justin continued. “But while he was sick, he was still looking at the drawings I’ve been sending him. And then he started to open my old letters – the ones I’ve been sending him since I got out, but that he had never read. I was afraid for a while that Brian only wanted to forget about me. The truth is that Brian wanted ME to forget about HIM! But that’s something I’ll never do, Deb. Never! I think he’s finally beginning to believe that now.”

“Poor Bri Baby has a hard time trusting people, honey,” Debbie reminded Justin. “You have to give him a chance to understand that you’re not going to abandon him just because you got sprung and he’s still inside!”

“I’m not about to abandon Brian,” Justin insisted. “Especially not now. Those articles in ‘The New Yorker’ were only the beginning, Deb. Brian is going to have a book out, too. Ron hired a literary agent to work out the deal.” Justin stopped before he said too much. Ron had warned him not to talk about the details of business with anyone, and especially not with a loudmouth like Debbie Novotny.

“A real book?” Deb crowed. “Maybe Bri’ll dedicate it to you, Sunshine!”

Justin smiled. “I don’t care who Brian dedicates his book to, Deb, I only want it to be a success. And now that he’s finally written to me, the next step will be for us to see each other. I’m hoping that on the next Visiting Day, in March, he’ll finally come down to the Gallery. I was going to go this month, but they canceled it because so many of the guys had the flu.”

“Justin! Your burger and fries are up!” called Carlos, who was working short-order.

“Thanks!” said Justin, picking up the order. “If this guy grabs my ass again, I think I’m going to drop the tray on his head, Deb!”

“Sweetheart, that’s the curse of being so damn cute!” Debbie guffawed. “You keep telling those horny assholes about your boyfriend and eventually they’ll get the message.”

“I hope so!” Justin laughed.

Justin took the order over to the booth where the groper was sitting. But Justin grinned at him winningly and, sure enough, when the man finished his lunch he left a nice tip behind.

“How’s the apartment, honey?” asked Debbie when she saw Justin taking his break.

“Great, Deb,” he replied. “Thanks for telling me about it. I’m fixing it up exactly the way I want it to be. I can’t afford a lot of fancy stuff, so I’m trying to be creative. I painted the walls myself and my mom gave me some furniture from our old house. I even put a couple of my own drawings up. They look pretty good framed.”

“That’s the spirit, Sunshine!” said Debbie. “How are your classes going?”

“All right,” said Justin. “I wish I were going to PIFA and studying art, but Carnegie Mellon is really nice. My writing teacher from Stanton, Amy Carver, teaches there part-time and I see her on campus sometimes.”

“Are you meeting any nice kids at school?” asked Debbie. “Making some friends your own age? That’s what college is all about. Having some good times!”

Justin shrugged. His mother was always on his case about that subject, too. “I don’t know, Deb. I mainly go to my classes and then either go back to the apartment or come here to work. I don’t seem to have a lot in common with kids my own age. I feel like I’ve lived a life that they can’t imagine. And it’s hard for me to relate to stuff they think is important. Sports and going to parties and dating – that seems so high school to me after being in prison.”

“But you’re still so young, honey,” Debbie reminded him. “It’s time to have a little fun!”

“It’s hard to have fun when I think about Brian sitting in a cell,” said Justin, suddenly feeling a dull ache in his heart. “Thinking of him by himself. How can I go to a party or pretend that the Big Game matters to me when... when Brian is all alone?”

“It won’t be forever,” said Debbie, giving Justin a hug. “But until he gets out you can’t put your life on hold, honey. Brian wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“I know he wouldn’t,” Justin conceded. “I sit every night and think as hard as I can, trying to feel what he’s feeling. Trying to let him know that it won’t be long until we’re together. And it won’t be very long now. I know it won’t!” Justin stood and picked up his tray. “I have to get back to work, Deb.”

Debbie watched Justin head to the front booth to take an order. 

Poor Sunshine, she thought. He’s got such hope. Such dreams. He really believes that Bri Baby is going to get out of the joint sometime sooner than the end of the next decade. Deb sighed. I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of faith? And how long will it last until he and all of those dreams come crashing down to earth?


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian gets some shocking news.

Chapter 20

 

March 1979

 

“This is Baraka’s file,” Brian said to Josh. “Don’t be intimidated when he comes in to talk about his parole. Baraka’s thing is to project an aura of intense anger and power. But you’re here to help him, so don’t let him steamroll you.”

“I’ll try not to, Mr. Kinney,” said Josh, looking at the thick file. “Some of these guys are... are rather overwhelming.”

Josh was the paralegal assigned by the Prisoners’ Legal Defense to help Brian in the Law Library. He was a part-time law student who came to Stanton two or three days a week to file and fill out forms. But while Brian was ill with the flu Josh had also been working some of the cases and conferring with inmates.

“That’s how these men survive in prison,” said Brian. “By being overwhelming. It’s all about control. It’s all about letting you know that they are mean and tough and that they could break in half you any time they wanted. And they could, too. Always remember that.”

“Believe me, I’m not about to forget it!” Josh was a short, pudgy guy who was no match for the big, pumped up inmates who came into the Law Library looking for help with their cases.

“But also never forget that you have something that they don’t have,” Brian advised. “And that’s knowledge. Information. The men need that. They need your expertise and that gives you a kind of power they’ll never have. That’s what kept Ron, who is hardly a muscular or physically intimidating guy, a top dog in the Quad for so many years. And it saved me from getting my ass handed to me many, many times over the years.”

“That must have been really... difficult for you, Mr. Kinney,” said Josh. The law student had read the excerpts from Brian’s memoir published in ‘The New Yorker’ with great admiration. And now he was working directly with Brian Kinney! This was an opportunity that he wasn’t going to let go to waste! For a student working with the PLD and interested in going into criminal law, getting to know the famous Brian Kinney was like hearing the Word straight from God!

Josh has started out as Ron Rosenblum’s assistant at the PLD the previous summer and that’s where he first heard about Brian, the PLD’s inside liaison at Stanton Correctional. Josh was the paralegal who went over Brian’s paperwork from the prison, read his briefs, and filed his cases. And Josh had been very impressed with the work that the inmate did. He wondered how someone with no college education and no legal experience knew so much about the Law and prisoners’ rights. Then he read ‘The New Yorker’ and talked to Mr. Rosenblum. And he began to understand.

“Most of these men have a lot of street smarts, but very little formal education,” Brian reminded Josh. “They are used to scamming people and lying, so it’s often hard for them to level with a stranger. That’s why I get more truthful information out of them than you do. I’m one of them and they know that I understand the ‘code’ of inmate behavior. But you’re an outsider. They have to believe that they can trust you. And that takes time.” 

Brian picked up his cup of coffee and sipped at it. He was still so tired much of the time. After he’d gotten over the flu he felt almost as weak as he had after his stabbing. Brian hated feeling weak. Weakness left you vulnerable. If he was only going to stay in his cell it didn’t matter, but if he were going to take part in life in the Quad, then he couldn’t be weak. He’d have to start going to the gym again. And once the weather cleared, he’d have to start running again.

Running. Brian looked forward to that. Going around and around the track that circled the Yard had always been one of his greatest pleasures. One of the few times when he felt free. And now it would be one of the few pleasures left to him, since....

He pushed thoughts of Justin out of his mind. That didn’t do any good. He had tried to force Justin to go away and stay away, but the kid wouldn’t do it. He was a bad punk – he refused to obey orders. Well, on the outside Justin was no longer a punk. And he’d never let himself be put under anyone’s thumb – not even Brian’s.

“Hey, Kinney,” said one of the C.O.’s. He was standing at the door of the Law Library. Brian recognized him as one of the C.O.’s assigned to escort duty in the Administration Building. “You got a lawyer visit.”

“Whose lawyer?” Brian asked. He glanced at his calendar, but there was nothing scheduled. Still, some of these attorneys had erratic schedules and just showed up when it suited them.

“Don’t know,” said the C.O. “I ain’t got all day, so let’s move.”

“Just keep working on these files,” Brian instructed Josh. “The best thing is to familiarize yourself with as many of the pending cases as possible.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kinney,” said Josh, brightly. “I’ll do the best I can.”

“Good,” said Brian. And then to the C.O., “Okay. Let’s go.”

The C.O. led Brian to one of the small meeting rooms where inmates met with their lawyers or where Brian often consulted with the attorneys of men going up for parole or back to trial. He was surprised to see Julie Finch sitting there. She was wearing a brown pantsuit and had a new, shorter haircut.

“Hey, Julie,” said Brian. “You got your hair cut.”

Julie smiled. “It’s that Dorothy Hamill look. Do you like it?”

Brian had no idea who Dorothy Hamill was, but he thought her hair looked good. “Yeah, it’s nice. What’s Ron think of it?”

Julie snorted. “He’s pretty busy with his new divorcee, so he doesn’t have much time to ‘admire’ me these days!”

“It’s just as well,” said Brian. “You can do better than that, Julie. Better than being one of Ron’s quickies.”

“I know,” Julie replied. “But that’s not why I’m here, Brian. Not to talk about my personal life.”

“Okay, then,” said Brian. “So, what’s the word? I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

“And I wasn’t expecting to come out here today – but I couldn’t wait!” Julie took a file out of her briefcase. “This is why I came.”

Brian frowned. “What is it?”

“It’s your file, honey,” said Julie. “I don’t want you to freak out – but it looks like you’re going to get a new trial.”

Brian blinked. Then he blinked again. Suddenly all of the air in the room was sucked out. “What? Are... are you fucking with me?”

“No, Brian, I’m not fucking with you,” Julie insisted. 

“But why? Why now?” Brian was still trying to process Julie’s words.

“Because... Kirk Bradley is turning himself in, Brian,” said Julie. 

Brian frowned. “Kirk Bradley?” Then he understood. “You mean... Glenn? Glenn is turning himself in? To the cops?” Brian couldn’t believe it.

“Yes,” Julie confirmed. “He’ll be cooperating with the prosecutors and the Feds, too. He’s also already given them new information about you – including the fact that you were telling the truth at your trial. That you didn’t plan any part of the bombing and that you didn’t know what was going to happen. He’s willing to testify to that fact. We’ve already filed a motion to have your conviction set aside, or, if that doesn’t wash, for you to have a re-trial as soon as possible. And with these new developments, that looks very likely.”

“But... but the prosecutors won’t... they won’t want their big conviction to be overturned!” said Brian. “I was their showcase trial! They’ll fight it tooth and nail!”

“No,” said Julie. “It’s all new people in there now, Brian. When they changed the venue of your trial to Pittsburgh back in 1968 they did it so that the jury wouldn’t be prejudiced against you. But they could never have foreseen the whole Stockwell mess. Now the Prosecutor’s Office mainly wants to avoid looking bad. They’re not going to fight a new trial, Brian. I already have their word on that.”

Brian’s hands were gripping the edge of the table. He felt as if he were about to fall. A new trial. It couldn’t be possible. But Julie was saying that it would happen, so it must be true. Julie had never lied to him – never.

“No one told me anything!” said Brian, at a loss. “Does Ron know about all this?” 

“Of course,” said Julie. “He’s involved in it up to his neck. What do you think?”

“And... and Justin?” Brian asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”

“That I don’t know, honey,” Julie replied. “But if Justin doesn’t know now, he’ll know very shortly. The newspapers are going to be all over this story. Kirk Bradley is turning himself in at 6:00 this evening – and the press will be there. I alerted them myself!” Julie smiled smugly. 

“I don’t know what to say, Julie,” Brian said slowly. “I... I....” But he couldn’t continue.

“Then don’t say anything,” said Julie. “Just try to breathe.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben offers Brian some advice.

Chapter 21

 

March 1979

 

“Brian?” Ben called into the cell. “Michelle and Em sent me down to bring you to the Television Room. Channel 5 is going to show an interview with the guy who did the Penn State Bombings. They taped it the other day before he turned himself in. Come and watch it with us.”

Brian was lying on his bunk reading a letter from Justin.

“I think I’ll pass, Ben,” he said. 

Ben was surprised. “But Brian – this has to do with your case! Don’t you want to hear what the guy has to say?”

Brian folded Justin’s letter and held it in his hands. He used to watch his old cellmate, Andy, sniff the letters that his female penpals sent him. Brian would laugh at Andy for that. For trying to picture what the woman really looked like, felt like, sounded like, all by smelling the letter. And now Brian was doing the same thing. Inhaling Justin’s essence through the paper that he had touched, written on, and sealed into the plain white envelope. Brian even held the flap of the envelope to his lips, imagining Justin’s warm tongue licking it.

“Brian?” repeated Ben. “I said, don’t you want to hear what the man has to say?”

But Brian shook his head. “No, Ben, I don’t.”

“But this is going to impact whether you get a new trial!” Ben exclaimed. “Brian, this is important!”

“If Glenn has anything vital to say, then I’m sure that Julie and Ron will let me know.”

Ben shook his head. “No, Brian. This guy’s name is Kirk... something or other. Not Glenn.”

“Glenn,” said Brian, quietly. “When I knew him he was Glenn. I didn’t know he had another name. Or a lot of other names. I had no fucking idea. That’s how naive I was. That’s how much I believed in him.”

“That’s when you were a kid, Brian,” said Ben. He sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk, next to Brian. “We all make mistakes. I’ve made a shitload of them in my time. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be in here! None of us would be.”

“But Glenn played me, Ben,” Brian declared. “How can I ever trust anyone again in my life after that? How can I ever really open myself up to someone knowing what could happen? Knowing what has already happened? That’s why I never fully trusted Ron. I tried to, but I couldn’t.”

“That’s Glenn?” asked Ben. “The one in the group who you were involved with?”

“Yes,” said Brian. “The same one. I thought for years that he had left the country. Gone to South America or Africa or who the hell knows where. I never in a million fucking years thought I’d ever see him again.”

“He’s on the television right now, Brian,” Ben reminded him. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to see what he looks like? Don’t you want to hear what he has to say?”

Brian looked directly at Ben. His hands were trembling slightly. “I’ve already heard what Glenn had to say. Things like ‘I love you.’ And ‘I want you.’ And ‘You’re so beautiful.’ Those are the things that Glenn had to say. The same kind of lies that a guy tells some stupid girl in order to get her into bed. The same kind of lies that anyone with an ounce of sense would realize are total bullshit! But not me. Not the stupid little faggot.” Brian swallowed and clutched Justin’s letter tightly. “He was so good-looking. So sexy and masculine. His voice was low and lulling, telling me just what I wanted to hear. And I was so easy to lie to. So easy to convince. So easy to play.”

“But that was a long time ago, Brian,” Ben said gently. “Anyone can be trusting, especially when they think they’re in love. Anyone can be suckered. No one would blame you for that.”

“Blame me?” whispered Brian. “Convict me, you mean. Give me 20-years-to-life. That’s how I paid for my trust. That’s how I paid for my sins.”

“You aren’t a sinner, Brian,” said Ben. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Ask my mother about that,” Brian replied. “Ask the people in the jury. Or the prosecutors who put me away. Or even my own lawyers who were disgusted with me because I was a faggot. Who wouldn’t use my love for Glenn as part of my defense because they knew I would be even more despised if the whole world knew exactly what I was – a fucking queer.”

“A lot of things have changed in the world since then,” said Ben. “People’s attitudes have changed. They’re much more open. More accepting. When you go to trial again it’ll be different. Very different.”

“You think so, Ben?” Brian stared at Justin’s letter. “I still think the world is fucked up. And so are the people. They’ll never let anyone different live the way they want to live or be the way they have to be. That’s what terrifies me about Justin. He’s so open. So honest. I fear for him. That’s why I tried to protect him when he was in the Quad. But I failed. And out in the world....” Brian paused. “There’s no place anywhere for the innocent, Ben. No place at all.”

Ben sighed. He knew that Brian had been depressed, but Ben had been certain that these new developments in his case would lift Brian’s spirits. But there was a more profound sadness in the man. A sadness not so easily dispelled. 

“You’re going to get out soon, Brian,” said Ben. “That’s all everybody on the tier is talking about. As far as I know that’s all everybody in the whole Quad is talking about! It’s going to happen. It really will.”

“And how am I going to live on the outside, Ben?” Brian asked sincerely. “I’ve lived most of my adult life in this cell. All of the things that other people take for granted – driving a car, cooking a meal, going to the store, crossing the fucking street! All of those things belong to a different world than the one I know. A huge, wide, scary world that’s full of danger.”

And suddenly Ben understood. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? You’re afraid to leave the Quad! That’s it, isn’t it?”

But Brian was silent.

“You can’t be afraid, Brian,” Ben said. “You can’t hide in here and retreat deeper and deeper into that dream world I know you have. You can’t live in those dreams. Not anymore. Remember what the Tao says, ‘The Ending is the Beginning.’ When you finally leave Stanton, it isn’t the end of your life, it’s the start of your life.” Ben leaned over and touched Brian’s shoulder. “And Justin will be waiting for you. If you’re really afraid, then you can let him lead you. Just because Glenn lied and just because Ron wasn’t always able to meet your expectations, don’t assume that Justin will do the same thing.”

“He wouldn’t,” said Brian. “But... but that doesn’t mean I’m not still afraid.”

“Then meet that fear head on.” Ben flexed his right arm, showing his pumped-up muscle. “You know how you can’t retreat from the pain? How you have to meet it directly? That’s the way you have to do everything, Brian.”

“I know,” Brian replied. “But it’s fucking hard..”

Ben stood up. “I better get going. I told Michelle and Emmy that I’d bring you down. I’ll explain to them that you didn’t feel up to it.”

“Ben, one more thing,” said Brian. “I know that you... that you wanted certain things from me. But I couldn’t. Do you understand? It’s nothing against you. It’s that I... I couldn’t do it. Not when I was thinking about someone else. It would have destroyed me. I’m sorry, Ben.”

“Don’t be,” said Ben, dismissing it. “Never apologize for following your heart. Then you can’t ever go wrong.”

“We’ll see,” breathed Brian. “If I can only learn to trust myself. Then we’ll really see.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's day takes a surprising turn.

Chapter 22

 

March 1979

 

Brian was standing in line with Emmy, Michelle, and Ben, waiting to go in for lunch when two C.O.’s came up to him.

“Step out of the line, Kinney!” Lt. Clayton said in a booming voice.

Brian hated to be barked at, especially by a C.O., so he immediately dug in his heels. “What for, Clayton? I’m on my way to chow.” Brian turned his back on the two guards.

“Now, Kinney!” Lt. Clayton’s voice took on a sharp edge. “I said to step out!”

“Why? I haven’t done a fucking thing!” Brian countered.

“Be careful, Bri Baby,” whispered Em. “Don’t do anything rash, honey.”

“You got a bad fucking attitude these days, Kinney. You want us to cuff you and drag you away?” shouted Clayton, his face red. “The warden wants to see you, so step out now or else you’ll end up in the Hole!”

“Brian, you better go along,” said Ben. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I’m sick of all the shit around here,” Brian replied. “I’m fucking sick of being yelled at, and I’m sick of being pulled this way and that! I’m sick of the whole fucking thing!”

“Move it, Kinney!” Clayton repeated. “I’m not going to say it again!”

Brian took a deep breath and stepped out of the line.

Lt. Clayton and his flunky jerked Brian’s arm roughly, pulling him down the corridor towards the passageway to the Administration Building.

“What’s this all about?” Brian asked.

“Shut up, Kinney!” Clayton huffed. “Who the fuck are you to ask any questions?”

Who am I to ask questions? Brian shook his head. No one. That was the truth. He was less than a person. He was an inmate. No one. And Brian was sick of it.

“I’m Brian Kinney,” Brian replied. “That’s who the fuck I am to ask questions.”

Clayton stopped and grabbed the front of Brian’s workshirt. “You see that number? 1969-21455. That’s who the fuck you are. And that’s who you’ll always be. So get used to it!”

“No,” said Brian, firmly. “That’s NOT who I am! That’s who YOU say I am. But that’s not me. And it’ll never be me.”

“Shut up, Kinney!” Clayton cautioned. “Can it!”

The door of the warden’s outer office was open and Brian was surprised to see Father Bob and Dr. Caputo standing by the secretary’s desk. When Brian saw the two of them he got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Brian!” said Father Bob. “How are you, son?”

“I’m all right, Father,” said Brian, uneasily. “What’s going on?”

The priest and the doctor glanced at each other. “Not much, Brian,” said Dr. Caputo. “We’re here to do some business with Warden Horvath.”

“Great,” said Brian. “I wish I knew why I was here.”

The warden’s assistant, Ray Milton, opened the door of Horvath’s office. “I see that Mr. Kinney has arrived.”

Brian snorted and looked at Lt. Clayton. “Mr. Kinney, huh? Next time tell your bulls not to pull ‘Mr. Kinney’s’ arm out of his socket when they escort him over here!”

Ray Milton cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Kinney.”

“Aren’t you going to have them keister me, too?” Brian said, bitterly. He was sick of being jerked around. “Aren’t you afraid that I’m hiding a machine gun up my ass?”

“Shut your mouth, Kinney!” Lt. Clayton warned. “Or I’ll take you out of here!”

But Ray Milton stepped between the two men. “That’s enough! Thank you, officers,” Milton said to Clayton and the other C.O. “You may go now.”

“But Mr. Milton....” began Clayton.

“It’s fine, Lt. Clayton,” Milton insisted. “Thank you.”

Clayton glared at Brian, then he and the other C.O. left the office.

“Jesus,” Brian mumbled to himself. “I’m going to have trouble with that asshole from now on.”

“Please come in, Mr. Kinney,” said Ray Milton. “The warden is waiting to speak with you.”

Brian followed the warden’s assistant into Horvath’s office. But Dr. Caputo and Father Bob also walked in behind them. There were two men sitting in front of the warden’s desk. Julie Finch was standing there, too. She grinned at Brian triumphantly. And Ron, seated in one of the chairs, turned to look up at Brian. His face was full of emotion.

“What... what the hell is going on?” Brian asked in confusion.

That’s when Justin, unable to contain himself, pushed back his chair and jumped up. “Brian!” he cried. And he threw his arms around his lover.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally – Brian and Justin together again!

Chapter 23

 

Brian held on to Justin as if he were afraid that he wasn’t real. Afraid that Justin would melt away as quickly as he had suddenly appeared.

But he seemed real. Felt real. Solid. Vital. Brian buried his face in that golden hair. Justin smelled real. He was real. 

Justin wrapped his arms around Brian’s waist and pressed into him. He was already hard and he wanted Brian to know it. Wanted Brian to feel it.

“Mr. Taylor!” Warden Horvath thundered. “Sit down right now!”

Justin turned his head and glared at the warden. “No!” he retorted. “I won’t sit down! And you can’t make me!” Justin swallowed, trying to steady himself. “I’m not an inmate here anymore. I’m not a prisoner and I don’t have to do what you say. I’m free!”

Julie stepped forward and touched Justin gently. “Perhaps Brian might like to sit down? Why don’t you have him sit in your chair, Justin?”

“Yes,” said Justin, nodded. Brian’s head must be spinning. This was all happening so fast! And Brian had just been sick with the flu. “You sit right here, Brian. And I’ll stand next to you. Don’t worry – I’ll watch your back.” Justin smiled at him.

“I think I will.” Brian slipped into the chair and clutched the arms of it, while Justin stood behind him and put his hand on Brian’s left shoulder. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Warden Carl Horvath came around the front of his desk and stood before Brian. “I have an order for your immediate release, Mr. Kinney,” he said. “It’s signed by Judge J. L. Morgenstern.”

“Release?” said Brian in disbelief. “But... but what about my sentence? My conviction?”

“Based on new evidence offered by Kirk Bradley, Judge Morgenstern has ordered a new trial for you, Brian,” said Ron, reaching over and touching Brian’s hand tentatively. “He’s also ordered your release until that time. The trial will be on greatly reduced charges. The second degree murder, the arson, the conspiracy – all of those have been dropped by the prosecutor. Your re-trial will probably be as an accessory to burglary and vandalism. You admitted that you drove the car and that you knew they were going to break into the building. But even a conviction on those charges wouldn’t add up to ten years in prison.”

“The... the judge is going to do that?” Brian looked at Ron, and then at Julie, questioningly.

“It’s a done deal,” said Julie, firmly. “It’s part of the agreement we made with the Prosecutor’s Office and the Feds before Kirk Bradley turned himself in. But it’s also the right thing, too, Brian. That’s what you were guilty of – being a minor accessory. It’s what you should have been tried on to begin with. There’s no need for you to be in here any longer, no matter what.”

“Is that part of this... this deal, too?” Brian asked. “That I get out? No matter what?”

Warden Horvath cleared his throat. “Yes, Kinney. That’s part of it. But it’s also an opportunity for people to see that we aren’t monsters here at Stanton Correctional. We only want to do right by the men under our care. So maybe we’re... um... pushing this release through a little rapidly. But it doesn’t do us any good to keep men here any longer than they need to be.” Horvath motioned to his assistant, Ray Milton, who handed him some papers. “There are reporters outside from all over the state – and national press, too. This is a big story, Kinney. Those reporters are going to want you to make a statement. And I’m going to make one, too.”

Brian felt a growing sense of panic. “A... a statement? I can’t do that! I wouldn’t know what to say! I don’t want to talk to any reporters.” He looked at Ron. “Do I have to do this?”

“It’s a chance for you to say what you’re feeling, Brian,” Ron replied. “A chance for you to be heard.”

“It’s okay, Brian,” whispered Justin. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

“As your attorney, I can make a statement for you – if that’s what you’d prefer, Brian,” said Julie. “But you’ll eventually have to say something to the press. Or you’ll at least have to give an interview to some sympathetic journalist. Because you’re a man a lot of people are very interested in hearing from right now. Not only because of your ‘New Yorker’ pieces, but also with all these new developments with Kirk Bradley and the Penn State Bombers case. Bradley has agreed to plead guilty to another reduced set of charges in exchange for a softer sentence and a Federal joint. That’s also part of this same deal. But you may still have to face Bradley in court during the sentencing phase.”

“Face him? You mean I’ll have to testify?” Brian felt dizzy. “Against Glenn? I’ll have to see Glenn? In court?”

“You may have to give some testimony, Brian,” said Ron. “But it won’t be hard. It’ll be all right. You’ll see.”

“And what’s going to happen to me now?” Brian asked. He felt Justin’s hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

“You can collect your gear and we’ll process you out,” said Horvath. “Like I said, we’ve sped up the procedure a bit.”

“A bit!” Ron laughed out loud. “Admit it, Horvath! You want Brian out of Stanton as fast as you can get him out of that door! Those reporters have been gathered at the front gate for the past four days and every time someone goes in or out it’s like a fucking gauntlet! And both you and the Board of Prisons don’t particularly care for the kinds of questions those reporters are asking.”

“That’s why I’m going to make this statement, Rosenblum,” Horvath countered, glowering at Ron. “I’ve got nothing to hide! My prison is clean! It’s run on the up-and-up!”

Justin made a disgusted noise. “I was gang raped at your prison, Mr. Horvath! You call that on the up-and-up?”

“Things happen, kid,” said the warden, shrugging. “I’m sorry for what was done to you, Taylor. But that has nothing to do with Mr. Kinney’s case.”

“Justin, honey, this is a matter that will have to be dealt with later, okay?” said Julie. She looked at Justin seriously. “This is about getting Brian out of here and back to Pittsburgh today.”

“Today?” Brian cried. “Jesus! You really mean right now? This minute?”

Ron stood up and nodded to Warden Horvath. “Yes, Brian, right now! So let’s get your shit and blow this pop stand so we can get you home!”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tier can't believe their eyes.

Chapter 24

 

March 1979

 

“Emmy!” shouted Barbie. “Come quick!”

“What in blazes are you yelling about, honey?” asked Em, going to the door of the Television Room. “Don’t you know that I’m in the middle of watching ‘All My Children’? How dare you interrupt Erica Kane!”

“This is better than Erica Kane, Em! Believe me!” Barbie babbled in excitement.

Em shoved Barbie aside and looked down the tier. “Oh, my Lord!” Em breathed. “Is that Justin?”

“And Brian, too! And someone else with them.” Barbie’s eyes were wide. “Isn’t that the lawyer? Bri Baby’s old jocker? What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know, darling,” said Em. “But we better find out!”

Justin saw Em and Barbie standing in the doorway of the Television Room and he stopped to embrace them. “This is it, Em,” Justin whispered.

“What’s going on, babydoll?” asked Em. Then he looked up and saw Brian’s face. And then Ron Rosenblum’s face. And he knew. Knew for certain. Bri Baby was leaving the Quad. For good.

“We’re getting Brian’s stuff.” Justin gestured to two C.O.’s who were carrying cardboard boxes for Brian’s belongings. “We’re leaving, Em.”

Brian held out his hand to his good friend. “Thanks for everything, Emmett. We’ll come and see you all. I promise. We won’t forget about you.”

Em felt herself beginning to tear up. “Why I’ll be out in a jiffy, Bri Baby! And Barbie is due for parole this summer. We’ll all have to get together and have a nice little reunion in Pittsburgh. It’ll be your treat!”

“Yes,” Brian smiled. “My treat.”

“I don’t see Ben or Michelle,” said Justin. “Are they at work?”

“Almost everybody is at work this time of day, sweetie. You know that,” said Em. “But I have the night shift this week and Barbie is on disability again, so we were just catching up on the soaps.”

Brian touched Justin’s arm. “As much as we’d love to stick around and say goodbye to the whole gang, I think we better get moving,” said Brian.

“Yes, Brian, we need to pack up your things,” said Ron. 

“Hello there, Mr. R.,” said Em. She smiled tightly at the lawyer. He had never approved of Em’s friendship with Brian. Ron didn’t care for queens and he had also suspected that Brian was using Em to relieve some of his sexual tensions, especially when Ron had been preoccupied with his own release. And he’d been right.

“Hello, Emmett,” Ron replied coolly. “You’re looking... um... fine.” For a prison drag queen, Ron added in silent disdain. “We’re in a hurry here.”

“Wait!” called Em. “I’ll help you pack!” Then she trailed them down the third tier to E-320.

At the cell Justin gently pulled his drawings down from the wall and slipped them into a folder, while Brian sorted out his clothes.

“You can leave the government issue on the floor of the cell,” said one of the C.O.’s. “We’ll collect it later to be washed and redistributed.”

“What about my workshirts? The ones with my number on them?” asked Brian, taking off the shirt he was wearing.

“Just leave them,” said Ron, packing his books. “You don’t need a number anymore, Baby.”

“Right,” said Brian, slowly. “I won’t need it.”

“Put this sweater on, Brian,” said Justin, unfolding a maroon cardigan he had taken off the narrow shelf. “This is the one I got you for Christmas. And put on your sneakers. You can leave those old prison shoes here.”

“What about my letters?” asked Brian. “Those are down in the Law Library. In the files.”

“You can get them later, Brian,” Ron assured him. “Aren’t you going to keep working for the PLD? They’ll still need your expertise for all the Stanton cases – at least until Josh can take over for you full time.”

“I never thought about that,” said Brian. The reality of being free was only beginning to hit him. “What will I do for a job? How am I going to live on... on the outside?”

“Don’t worry about that, Brian,” Justin reassured him. “You’ll be working on your book! And we already have a place for you to live.” Justin grinned. “All of that’s been taken care of.”

“It has?” Brian stood in the middle of the cell, at a loss, his hands empty. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.”

“Let me pack those clothes for you, sweetie,” said Em, pushing by the two C.O.’s. “Why don’t you and Justin stand out on the tier? It’s a little crowded in here.”

While Emmett and Ron finished putting Brian’s things in the boxes, Brian and Justin waited outside. 

“I wish I could have seen Wesley one more time,” Justin said, looking over at the next cell.

“He’s out, Justin,” Brian replied. “Back home with his mother and his family. When you’re out that’s all that matters. Maybe you’ll see Wes again someday, or maybe not. That’s the way it is in prison. People come and go, but I....” Brian stopped. “And now I’m going, too. I still can’t believe it.”

“Believe it, Brian,” Justin told him softly. “And you aren’t coming back. Except to visit or work in the Law Library.”

“I think I need a cigarette,” Brian said nervously. “I need something to keep my hands steady.”

“Here,” said Justin, slipping his hand into Brian’s. “You don’t need a cigarette. Just hold on to me. That’s all you have to do.”

Ron stepped out of the cell, followed by Em and the two C.O.’s carrying the boxes filled with Brian’s gear. “Are you ready, Brian? I’m sure that Horvath is waiting to make his statement to the press. You don’t have to say anything, but you’ll have to stand there at the front gate while Julie speaks to the reporters.”

“I’m ready – I guess.” Then Brian thought of one more thing. “Is it cold outside? You’re all wearing coats. I don’t have a coat. All I have is this sweater.”

“I forgot about a coat,” Justin said in dismay. “It’s March, but it’s pretty cold. It was snowing when we drove down here.”

“Here,” said Ron. He took off his long cashmere coat and put it around Brian’s shoulders. “Put this on, Baby. I’ll get you your own coat when we get back to Pittsburgh. And all new clothes, too. I’ll get you everything you need.”

“WE will get you everything you need, Brian,” Justin broke in. He threw a warning look at Ron, who shook his head. But Justin wasn’t about to let his lover get hijacked by Ron. Not now. Not ever.

“Then we’d better go,” said Brian. He turned and looked at Emmett one last time. “Thanks, Em.”

“Good luck, Bri,” said Em, hugging him. And then she hugged Justin, too. “Take good care of your man, babydoll.”

“I will,” Justin said confidently. “That’s one thing you can count on. Always!”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing the Press.

Chapter 25

 

Facing the reporters promised to be a nightmare, so Brian blanked himself out rather than think about it. All he could see as he stared out at them was a blur of figures crowding before him, shouting questions and pointing cameras.

Brian stood with Justin, Ron, and Julie, with Dr. Caputo and Father Bob behind them for support, as Warden Horvath made a long, rambling speech at the front gate of Stanton Correctional Facility. The snow was starting to come down hard and Brian shivered in Ron’s borrowed overcoat. Snow was melting on Brian’s head and dripping down into his face, Justin was blowing on his hands, and Julie was coughing, but still Horvath droned on about Justice and how the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania recognized when an inmate had been wronged and how all public servants strove to correct such injustices.

“Jesus!” Ron swore under his breath. He was standing there without his fucking coat and all of this showboating by Horvath was likely to give them all pneumonia! Luckily his car, with Josh, the paralegal from the Prisoners’ Legal Defense, at the wheel, was waiting to take them away the minute they were able to blow off the gentlemen of the press.

Finally, Horvath finished pontificating. Julie stepped up and spoke briefly, telling the reporters that her client, Brian Kinney, would release a statement later, but could not speak now because he was reserving his words for his trial. Lights flashed all around as the cameras caught Brian and his Defense Team, as ‘The Pittsburgh Clarion’ called Ron and Julie and Justin, at the official moment of famous inmate-writer Brian Kinney’s release from medium security prison.

Then they were in Ron’s black Lincoln Continental. Ron pushed Josh over to the passenger side so that he could drive them back to Pittsburgh. Brian, Justin, and Julie climbed into the backseat, while Dr. Caputo and Father Bob waved them off.

Safely in the car, out of sight of the mob, Justin took Brian’s hands and rubbed them between his own. “Your hands are so cold, Brian. Why didn’t you put on Ron’s gloves while we were standing there?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t know, Justin. I didn’t think about it. It’s all right. I’m not that cold. I think I’m numb.”

“We’ll be home soon,” Justin reassured him.

Julie and Josh and Ron discussed Brian’s case as Ron drove them up the snowy highway, but Brian and Justin didn’t say a word. Brian stared straight ahead, still unable to grasp what was happening. And Justin leaned against Brian, his eyes closed. He didn’t need to live in his dreams anymore. His greatest dream was now their reality.

“We’ll drop Julie and Josh off at the PLD office and then go directly to the apartment,” Ron told them as they approached the city.

“That sounds good,” said Justin. “My mom is waiting there. I wonder if Brian’s release will be on the 6:00 news?”

“Probably,” said Julie. “This is a big story. There were certainly enough reporters there, including camera crews from Channel 5 and Channel 7. Brian, try to remember NOT to talk to any of the press,” Julie reminded him. “If they happen to find out the phone number of the apartment, don’t tell them anything they can quote. And if one of the reporters corners you on the street, tell him that you can’t make a statement until after the trial.”

“Corner me?” said Brian, in alarm. “What do you mean? Are they going to follow me around?”

“Don’t worry, honey.” Julie patted Brian’s arm. “The press is only looking for a good story. I doubt that they’ll chase you down the street to get one!”

“I sure hope not!” said Justin. “If they do, we’ll call the cops! And my mom got us an answering machine so that we can screen all of our phone calls.”

“Where are we going exactly?” Brian asked. It was all too overwhelming. Now they were entering the city itself. Brian hadn’t been in a car or in the city of Pittsburgh in ten years and all of these new sensations were making his stomach churn violently. 

Justin squeezed his hand. “You’ll see, Brian. I want you to be surprised!”

“I’ve already had enough surprises,” Brian murmured. And he wished that he were back in his cell, with the door firmly locked and the lights off, leaving him sheltered in the dark.

It was rush hour in downtown Pittsburgh and Brian glanced out the window of the Lincoln nervously. A taxi went rushing by and a horn blew and then the Lincoln lurched to a sudden stop. Brian felt like jumping out of the car and running, but he had no idea where he would run. 

Ron pulled the Lincoln up in front of an older building. Josh hopped out and opened the door for Julie.

“Bye, Brian,” said Julie, giving him a quick kiss. “Take a day or two to get your bearings and then Justin can bring you down to the office and we’ll go over your case. We’re trying to schedule the trial for as soon as possible, but you know how things work. Right, honey?”

“Right,” said Brian. His trial. Court. Glenn. More nightmares to come. “I know how things work.”

“And don’t run away, Brian, or the Feds will have all of our asses in slings! Got that?” Julie grinned, but she was also very serious. 

“Don’t worry, Julie,” said Justin. “Brian’s not going anywhere. I’ll make sure of that!”

“Good boy! I’ll see you soon!” Julie slammed the car door and waved them on their way.

“What did Julie mean about the Feds?” Brian asked.

“They were the ones who arranged this deal,” Ron explained. “Because they wanted Kirk Bradley. And Bradley is giving up everything he knows about the other members of the Penn State Bombers cell. The Feds think they’ll have the rest of them in custody within weeks. That’s why you’re out, Brian. It was a trade-off. The Prosecutors’ Office went along with it because they didn’t want another big stink while they’re in the middle of being investigated because of Stockwell’s misconduct. As soon as Julie and the assistant prosecutor can work out the date, you’ll go in and face reduced charges. The re-trial shouldn’t take more than a day or two.”

“A day or two?” Brian swallowed. “And... and Glenn – Kirk – will testify?”

“Yes, Brian, he’ll testify,” Ron said. “The whole thing hangs on his corroborating your original testimony at the first trial. Even if you’re convicted on the reduced charges, you’ll get time served. But you may well be acquitted. Either way, Baby, you’ll be a free man.”

“It’s... too much to comprehend.” Brian looked at Justin. “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I mean, with the rest of my life.”

Justin smiled. “You’ll live, Brian! You’ll work on your book. That’ll keep you busy for a while. And I’ll keep you busy, too.” Justin stroked Brian’s leg intimately. “You can enjoy yourself for once in your life. But the first thing we’ll do is to get you some new clothes, starting with a warm coat. We’ll make a list of everything you need and hit the mall. It’ll be fun!”

“Fun?” Brian whispered. “Then why do I feel so fucking terrified?”


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apartment.

Chapter 26

 

March 1979

 

“Where are we?” asked Brian.

The snow had stopped falling, but it was beginning to get dark and it was hard to see out of the Lincoln’s fogged up windows.

“This is Liberty Avenue,” said Ron. “It’s right down this way.” He turned the Lincoln down Barker Place.

“Liberty Avenue?” Brian frowned. “Isn’t that kind of a... a crummy neighborhood?” All Brian could think of was the Red Light District where guys from his high school used to say was the place to find a hooker.

“It’s not Squirrel Hill, Brian, but this section of Liberty Avenue isn’t too bad,” said Justin. “It’s actually... well, it’s the gay section.”

“Gay section?” Brian looked at Justin in surprise. “Since when is there a gay section of Pittsburgh?”

“It’s been here for a while,” Ron asserted. “But it wasn’t exactly advertised as such.” He turned into a driveway and parked behind an old sandstone apartment building. “Here we are. Let’s get the boxes out of the trunk.”

Justin opened the outer door of the building with his key and they walked up three flights. 

“I thought your mother lived in some new development?” Brian asked. This building must date back to the 1920’s, he thought. “In a what-you-call-it? A condominium?”

“Yes, she has a new condo. She bought it with her share of the money from when they sold the house,” said Justin. He stopped in front of 4-B and fumbled with his key. “But this isn’t my mom’s place, Brian.”

Jennifer Taylor opened the door before Justin could turn his key. “Sweetheart! I thought you’d never get here! They showed a clip of the release on the news!”

“Oh my God! Were we all in it?” said Justin, excitedly.

Jennifer hugged her son and then leaned over to kiss Ron. “Mainly Julie and that warden. But I saw all of you standing there in the snow. It looked very cold!”

“It was, Jen,” said Ron.

“Where’s your coat, honey?” Jennifer asked, brushing of the melted snow off Ron’s suit. 

“Brian’s wearing it,” said Ron.

Brian was standing there in the doorway holding a large cardboard box. He was unsure of whether he was really supposed to enter this place. It was all so strange. This building and this apartment. And Justin’s mother. Was he supposed to stay at this apartment for now? Wasn’t Justin living with his mom? And what about Ron? Were they going to leave him here – alone? Brian was completely confused.

“Of course,” sighed Jennifer. “Brian – please come in. Put that box down and I’ll take your coat.” 

“He didn’t have one, Mom,” Justin explained. “So Ron gave him his. I should have remembered to bring one for him, but everything was happening so fast!”

“You can’t think of everything, dear,” said Jennifer.

“But I should have thought of that,” Justin insisted. “I knew that Brian only had sweaters and no outside clothes for winter.”

“The coat?” said Jennifer, holding out her hand. “Please... Brian?”

“Oh,” said Brian. “Sorry.” He set the cardboard box on the floor and slipped off Ron’s overcoat, handing it to the slender blonde woman. He knew by the expression on her face that she didn’t like him. The criminal who had shared a cell – and a bed – with her son. And also with her.... Her what? Was Ron her boyfriend? Fiancé? Lover? No wonder Justin’s mother stared at Brian like he’d just crawled out from under a rock.

“Is the food ready?” Ron asked. “I can smell it and I’m starving!”

“I picked it up at the Golden Pavilion about 4:00 and I’ve been keeping it warm since then,” said Jennifer, hurrying to the kitchen. “I hope it’s not ruined! But you were so late!”

“I told you it would take time, Jen,” said Ron, sitting down at the small dining table. “And the weather was bad. I didn’t want to spin out on the highway!”

“Brian,” said Justin, talking Brian’s hand. “Come and sit down.”

Justin was worried about his lover. He seemed so perplexed by everything. But this morning when he woke up in his cell on the third tier, Brian could not have known that he’d go to sleep in Justin’s apartment. No, in THEIR apartment.

Brian allowed himself to be led to table and seated. Justin slid into the chair next to him. “This is our old kitchen set from the house. Most of the furniture here is from my parents.”

“So... this is your apartment?” Brian asked Justin. “I thought you were living with your mother... and Ron?” Brian glanced at his former jocker. Ron was fucking Justin’s mother. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“I moved in a couple of weeks ago, Brian.” Justin grinned. “I wanted it to be a surprise!” He leaned over close to Brian’s face. “This is OUR place, Brian. Not mine. This is where we’re both going to live. I’ll go class at Carnegie Mellon and do my shifts at the Liberty Diner. That’s where I’m working. I wrote to you about it, remember? Michelle’s mom is the head waitress there. She hired me.”

“Yes, I remember,” Brian said slowly. It was like he was underwater. Things were floating through his head but he couldn’t hold on to them. “Mrs. Novotny.”

“Here we go!” Jennifer carried out two serving dishes and put them on the table. “I took everything out of the cartons so they’d stay warm better. Does anyone want chopsticks?”

“I do, Mom!” said Justin, brightly.

“So do I,” said Ron. “But give Brian a fork. I think he’s out of practice.”

“The rest is coming right up,” said Jennifer, returning to the kitchen. “And chopsticks for two. Don’t worry, Brian, I always use a fork, too.”

Ron took the lid off the first dish. “Shrimp with lobster sauce.” Then the second one. “Chicken fried rice. Jen! Where’s the lo mein? And the soup? And the egg rolls?”

“It’s coming!” she shouted back from the kitchen. “I only have two hands!”

“I’ll help her,” said Justin, pushing back his chair. “You guys start eating.”

Brian watched Justin go into the kitchen. Then he stared at Ron, who was filling his plate with food. 

“You got me Chinese food,” said Brian, his voice catching. “How... how did you remember?”

“I remember everything important, Baby,” said Ron quietly. “And I hope you remember everything important, too.” He reached over and took Brian’s hand. “Like us. Because I haven’t forgotten that. Not at all. This is the greatest day of my life. It’s what I’ve hoped for for so many years. This was your first wish for when you got out. A Chinese meal with all the trimmings. But this is only the beginning, Baby. There will be so much more.”

“I... I can’t think about everything right now,” Brian said in bewilderment. He stared down at the food on his plate and his stomach clenched. “I... I....” He swallowed. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down that little hall, Baby,” said Ron. “The door should be open.”

Brian bolted from the room as Jennifer and Justin carried out the rest of the food.

“Where’s he going?” Jennifer asked. “The food is going to get cold!”

“He’s a bit overwhelmed, hon,” said Ron, reaching for the wonton soup. “Give him a few minutes to get himself together.”

Justin didn’t need to hear any more. He put his dishes on the table and then sprinted down to the bathroom to make sure Brian was okay. To see that he wasn’t really sick or something! Fuck the food getting cold!

“This is a big mistake, Ron,” Jennifer whispered as she sat down next to him. “That man isn’t ready to live here with Justin. He... he’s freaky. He makes me nervous! He might be better off staying with Julie or someone else from the PLD until he can cope with the outside world.”

“Brian will be all right, Jen,” said Ron, calmly. “I’ll make certain that he adjusts. And so will Justin. Brian has to adjust. This is his reality now – so he better get used to it.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their own place at last.

Chapter 27

 

Justin came out of the bedroom as Ron and Jennifer were about to leave.

“Brian’s sleeping,” he told Ron and his mother. “I think he’s exhausted. I guess we tried to spring too much stuff on him and he’s not ready for it.”

“That’s all right, sweetheart,” soothed Jennifer. “I put the rest of the food in the fridge. If Brian wakes up and feels like having some later, just heat it up in the oven.”

“Yes,” said Ron. “Chinese food is just as good left over.” He helped Jennifer on with her coat. “Don’t pile too many things on Brian tomorrow, kid. Call Julie and maybe we can take him over to the PLD on Friday afternoon. But we can’t leave it too long, you know. We want this re-trial to happen ASAP. Also, James Crossley, the literary agent, says that the editor from Brian’s publisher wants to get to work on the entire manuscript as soon as Brian is able to handle it. They want to put his book on their Fall List, which means that there will be a lot of work to do to get it ready for publication.”

“I know, Ron,” said Justin, running his hand through his tousled hair. “But please don’t push Brian too much, okay? He’s been sick and... and he’s feeling pretty confused right now. Let’s take one thing at a time. The book is important and the trial is important, but so is getting Brian’s head together!”

Ron turned away and took his own coat out of the little closet next to the door. It was going to be a struggle with Justin over Brian every inch of the way. But he couldn’t antagonize the kid too much. Then he’d have both Brian AND Jenn on his back about it!

“I expect to see both of you boys at my condo for dinner on Sunday,” Jennifer reminded her son. “Brian should be able to handle that, don’t you think, dear?”

“Yes, Mom,” Justin sighed. “We’ll be there. But give Brian a little space, will you? Please cut him some slack? You have no idea what... what Brian’s been through in prison.”

“Jennifer may not be aware of everything, but I think that I know exactly what Brian has been through, so don’t lecture me!” said Ron, peevishly. “But you can only coddle Brian so much. Remember that, too, kid. Brian is a man and he has to learn to live on the outside. I had to learn to do it and so did you, Justin. It’s a matter of adjustment. Brian is a very intelligent person and he’s perfectly capable of adapting to life outside of prison. After all, he has all of us to help him.” 

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” Justin muttered. “Help him! If certain people would only let me!”

Ron ignored Justin’s remark. “Brian has some time to get his strength back and his head on straight – but not a hell of a lot! And he has a ton of work ahead of him, kid. His trial can’t wait and neither can his book. He’s going to have to work with that editor and get the book finished so he can earn the big advance that Lewis-Fisher and Company dished out.”

“This isn’t about money, Ron!” Justin fumed. 

“Yes, Justin, it is about money,” Ron retorted as he put on his coat. “Brian has to live on the outside. And that means he has to work, the same as all of us do. That big advance will keep him afloat for a while, but eventually Bri Baby is going to have to join the real world. I think Brian is going to be an important voice for prison reform in this country. But it’s only going to happen if his book is a success. It HAS to be a success!” 

“It will be, Ron,” Justin huffed. “You know it will!”

“We’ll see,” Ron narrowed his eyes at Justin, but then he grinned slyly. “Besides, the two of you can’t live forever on your tips from the Liberty Diner!”

Justin was so angry he wanted to spit at Ron. He wanted to tell Ron what he thought of him and his view of Brian’s future. But Justin also knew that Ron was right in his own fucked up way. Brian needed to finish his book and he needed to get his trial out of the way. Until then, they couldn’t move ahead with their lives. But Justin hated it when Ron was right, because he was right for all the wrong reasons. Justin didn’t want Ron to be right – ever!

“Call me tomorrow, honey,” Jennifer called as she was going out the door.

“I’ll be in touch,” said Ron. He gave Justin a knowing look. “Let Baby get some sleep tonight – if you know what I mean! He needs his rest.”

“Goodbye!” Justin said firmly. And he shut and locked the door to the apartment and chained it for good measure.

He and Brian were finally alone. This was their home! And now they were in it together – for real!

Jennifer had already cleaned up the kitchen, so Justin only had to turn off the lights. Then he searched around the living room until he found his yellow legal pad. He’d have to make of list of all the things Brian would need. Which was almost everything, from new underwear to a winter coat. And so many other things, too. Brian didn’t have a driver’s license. Or a single credit card. Ron had opened an account for Brian at the bank, so they’d have to get some checks. And an ATM card. And he needed insurance, too.

Justin thought Brian should see a doctor very soon. Dr. Caputo did a good job when the men of Stanton were sick, but Brian needed to have his general health looked at. Ten years in prison was bound to take a toll on anyone, let alone someone who’d been through some of the things that Brian had survived. Brian also needed to see a dentist. Justin wrote that down on the pad, too. And a car. They would definitely need a car, even if it was only a used one.

There were so many things to do. Luckily there was Brian’s book advance. Yes, Ron was right about that, too. Brian and Justin couldn’t live on Justin’s tip money from the diner. They needed to use at least some of Brian’s money if they didn’t want Ron to keep paying the rent on the apartment forever.

He set the legal pad down on the coffee table. It was still early, but suddenly Justin felt very tired. This whole day had been too much. He yawned and then went into the bedroom.

Justin turned on the little light next to the bed and Brian opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” said Justin. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” said Brian. “It’s too quiet in here. I kept waiting to hear the C.O. walking up and down the tier. Or Beemer coughing. Or Wesley crying in his sleep.” Brian rubbed his eyes. “Do you have a radio or something? I need a little noise so I can fall asleep.”

“Sure, Brian,” said Justin. “This is a clock-radio.” He switched on the box on the bedside table. He had it tuned to the Oldies station. “I set it to play music to wake me up so I won’t be late for the breakfast shift at the diner.”

“That’s pretty neat,” said Brian. “You’ll have to show me how it works.”

“I’ll show you how everything works, Brian,” Justin whispered. “It’s easy.”

Brian sat up against the pillows. “Do you think I can take a shower? I feel so... so grungy. Like I still smell like prison.”

“You smell great to me, Brian,” Justin smiled. “You always smell great. But you can take a shower if you want to. You can do anything you want to do! Come on. I’ll get you a towel.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was from an older era. The bathtub had old-fashioned feet and two leaky faucets, while the toilet had a wobbly wooden seat. But to Brian it looked wonderful. It had a door that shut. You could be safe there.

Justin turned on the shower and ran the water, testing it. “Is that too hot for you?”

“No,” said Brian, putting his hand under the spray. “That’s perfect.”

Brian stripped off his shorts and tee shirt slowly. He felt almost shy in front of Justin. This wasn’t their cell or the shower room. This was somewhere else. A world away from the Quad. 

Justin took Brian’s underwear and tossed it into a small hamper for the wash. He would be glad when he was able to throw away all of Brian’s old prison gear, but especially the ugly gray undershorts. He could picture Brian in sexy briefs that would look good with his wifebeaters.

Brian pulled back the shower curtain and climbed in. The water was so warm. And he could stay in here as long as he wanted. There was a bar of pink soap in the soapdish. He rubbed it all over his body. The soap felt creamy and soft and smelled like roses. Brian closed his eyes.

“Is there room for me in here?” asked Justin. And he climbed into the old bathtub with Brian.

“Justin – what are you doing?” Brian stared at him as he clutched the soap.

“I’m getting clean,” Justin laughed. “We’re conserving water, Brian! There’s an Energy Crisis, remember?” Justin took the soap out of Brian’s hand and began to circle Brian’s chest with the foamy pink bar. “Let me help you with that.”

“We’ve never done this before,” Brian breathed. His cock was getting very hard. “I’ve never done it in the shower before, ever. I was always afraid of getting caught in the shower room by some gang, so I used to rush in and out as fast as I could.”

“There are no gangs here, Brian,” said Justin. He ran his sudsy hands down Brian’s long body and grasped his dick. It came alive in Justin’s hand. “It’s only us. This is our place. Our shower. Our soap. Oops!” Justin shrugged. “I dropped the soap, Brian. Do you want me to pick it up?”

“Yes,” said Brian. His cock felt like it was about to explode. “Pick it up.”

Justin bent over and braced himself against the tiled wall. It was slippery, but he held fast to the surface with the palms of his hands. 

Brian eased his soapy cock into Justin, wrapping one arm around his lover’s body, while his other hand took hold of Justin’s own throbbing dick. Then Brian thrust into Justin deeply. He leaned his chin on Justin’s shoulder as they fucked, the warm water cascading down their bodies. 

They rocked together, their wet skin slapping. Brian gritted his teeth as he felt himself shoot and Justin let out a gasp. Brian jacked Justin’s dick briskly until he came. Then they held each other under the spray until it began to turn cool.

Justin turned off the water and reached for the towels. “That’s One!” he said.

“One what?” asked Brian, rubbing the towel over Justin’s back.

“The first time we fucked in our apartment. And the first time we fucked in the shower,” Justin replied. “I’m going to keep track.”

And Brian laughed out loud for the first time a very long while. “You’re going to lose count pretty quickly, punk! Because we’re going to do it until our heads spin. I’m going to fuck you until you won’t know what year it is, let alone keeping track of where and when and how many times!”

“That’s a promise I’m going to hold you to!” Justin ran his fingers through Brian’s wet, dark hair. “But there’s still the bed. Unless you aren’t up for any more tonight?”

Brian stroked his cock gently. It was already lengthening in his hand. “Who’s not up for it?”

“I’m glad I told Debbie that I couldn’t work the breakfast shift tomorrow, because I don’t think I would have made it,” Justin sighed.

“Oh, you’re going to make it,” Brian insisted. “We’re going to make it again right now! In the bedroom. Unless you’re the one who’s too tired?” 

“Never!” Justin grinned. “Never too tired for you, Brian. Ever.”

And he took Brian’s hand and led him back into their bedroom.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up.

Chapter 28

 

Brian woke up and turned over groggily.

“Ow, Brian!” Justin groaned. “You’re too heavy!”

“Sorry,” Brian mumbled.

He climbed out of bed slowly, glancing at the clock-radio. It was almost 10 a.m.

Toilet. He needed to piss like a racehorse. Bathroom? Down the hall. The bedroom door was open and he peered out warily. He knew there was no one else in the apartment, but he wasn’t used to strolling around naked in broad daylight. 

Brian went into the bathroom and flipped on the light. The shower. Yes! That had felt good. They’d do that again soon. Very soon! 

He pissed and then washed his hands. All of the soaps and shampoos Justin had smelled nice. Like flowers or herbs or lemons. Brian washed his face with the white soap by the sink. Ivory soap. He remembered that brand. His mother used to buy Ivory. It floated in the bathtub like a square white boat.

His mother. Did she know that he’d been released? Did she see it on the news? Did she care at all? Brian wondered vaguely where his father was buried. Father Bob had tried to get him to go to the funeral back in January, but Brian wasn’t going anywhere then. He had been in another place and never thought he’d leave it. But he had left it. And he’d left the Quad, too.

But now he was here. Unbelievable!

“Hey, crabby!” Justin walked into the bathroom, scratching his ass. He was naked, too. “Move over!”

“Do you always wander around the house like that? With your dick in full view?” Brian asked. “I hope you keep the shades down.”

Justin grinned. “I don’t see you wearing any clothes, Brian! This is MY apartment. Excuse me – OUR apartment – and if we want to be naked, then fuck anyone who doesn’t like it!”

“I’m only afraid your mother is going to walk in here and get a look at my dick,” said Brian, drying his hands on a fluffy blue towel.

“So what if she does? Mom has a key, but she won’t just walk in,” said Justin, pissing into the toilet. “I already warned her about that. Besides, I put the chain up before I went to bed.”

“Good thinking,” said Brian. “Did you really find this apartment yourself and do everything? Because it’s... it’s great. I love it.”

“Thanks, Brian.” Justin was so happy that Brian liked the apartment. “Debbie – Mrs. Novotny – told me about it. My mom didn’t want me to move out of her condo. She still thinks I’m her baby boy who needs her tender loving care. But I had to get out of there! I couldn’t stand watching Ron and my mother playing house!”

“I don’t blame you,” Brian sighed. “That’s very weird. But Ron likes to be taken care of and your mom seems to be... she seems very motherly. You know what I mean?”

“Yes, Mom likes being the Happy Housewife,” Justin stood next to Brian and looked at himself in the mirror. “My dad liked her being that way, too. Pampering him and doing everything for him. So she does it with Ron now. And he sure loves having someone cater to his every whim.”

“Better her than....” Brian paused. He almost said, “Better her than me,” but he stopped his flow of words. “Better her than someone who hates that fucking role. If it’s your mother’s thing, that’s cool.” Brian shrugged. “And I mean it, Justin, when I say that the apartment is great. And it’s so big!”

Justin snorted. “It’s not that big, Brian. It only seems big compared to our cell.”

“What’s behind that other door in the hall? A closet?” Brian asked.

“That’s another bedroom,” Justin replied. “It’s mainly full of boxes now, but I want to make it into an art studio. This apartment has nice, tall windows and that room gets the western light.”

“Is that good?” Brian smiled. Justin doing his art. That was fantastic! It was what he was born to do.

“Yes, pretty good. You get light in the late afternoon, which is when I like to paint.” Brian was clueless about art, but Justin would teach him.” I only wish I were at the Institute of Fine Art, but Carnegie Mellon is a good school. And I’m taking an Art History survey right now. Next semester I’m hoping to get into a Life Studio. That’s a class where you do figure drawing with a model.”

“Nude models?” Brian raised his eyebrows.

“Sometimes.” Justin smiled up at Brian. “Would you like to pose?”

“Me? No way! But speaking of class,” said Brian. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school? Isn’t this Wednesday? I’m pretty confused about a lot of shit, but I know it’s not the weekend.” 

“I kind of missed my morning classes,” Justin admitted. “But it was for a good cause, Brian! My lover doesn’t get released from prison every day. I guess I can still make my 2:00 Freshman English class.”

“I don’t want you skipping classes because I’m here, Justin,” Brian said very seriously. “I’m not a five year old who can’t be left alone for a couple of hours. Your education is the most important thing right now.”

“ONE of the most important things, Brian,” Justin insisted. He put his arms around his lover and held him close. Justin felt both of their cocks begin to stir. “I’ve got my priorities straight, believe me. School is important, but this is important, too. YOU are important.”

Brian squeezed Justin tightly. Justin seemed so confident on the outside. This was the place he belonged. He was at home in the real world. But Brian still felt like an interloper. A true stranger in this strange land.

“Let’s take another shower,” Justin said, smiling lasciviously. “Afterwards we can go out and have brunch. All the trendy gay men do brunch!”

“What the fuck is brunch?” Brian frowned. “It sounds obscene!”

“Too late for breakfast, but too early for lunch. Brunch!” Justin slapped Brian on his bare ass. “I know the perfect place to go. So we better get moving!”


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the Liberty Diner.

Chapter 29

 

“This neighborhood isn’t too bad,” Justin told Brian as they left the apartment building on Barker Place. “My mother thinks I’m going to get mugged every time I walk out the door. Liberty Avenue is a little rundown, but I like it. I can walk to the diner. And I can catch my bus to class right on the corner.”

Brian hunched his shoulders against the cold. He had tried to put on one of Justin’s jackets, but they were all too small. So he wore two sweaters and topped them off with Justin’s extra-large Carnegie Mellon sweatshirt. But he was still fucking freezing!

“Is this really a gay area?” Brian asked. He eyed the people walking by, but they just looked like regular people. Non-inmates. Civilians. No obvious queens like Emmett or Michelle. Everyone looked fairly middle-of-the-road.

“There’s a gay bar over there.” Justin pointed to a nondescript storefront with blacked out windows. “And a disco down an alley a couple blocks that way. There are head-shops and bookstores and funky clothing stores all along the street. And the Liberty Diner, of course. That’s the most obvious gay business – at least to an outsider.”

“And that’s where you work – of course!” Brian grumbled. “With Michelle’s crazy mother.”

“It’s a fun place to work, Brian,” Justin insisted. “So don’t knock it. That’s where we’re going for brunch.”

“Brunch!” Brian snorted. “Jesus Christ!”

Justin pulled Brian by the hand, laughing. “Come with me! I know you must be hungry since you didn’t eat any of Ron’s big Chinese meal last night.”

“I know,” Brian admitted. “I feel kind of bad about that after he went to all that trouble. But I couldn’t eat. There was... too much going on.”

Justin stopped on the sidewalk. “Brian, I’m not going to pretend that I trust Ron, because I don’t. I know you have a long history with him and that you feel like you owe him a lot. I understand that feeling. I owe him a lot, too. Ron worked hard on my case and he gave me the deposit so I could rent the apartment, as well as the rent for the first few months.”

“That’s the first thing we’ll have to change,” said Brian. “I’ll pay the rent from now on. With the advance money for my supposed book.”

“Not supposed book, Brian – definite book!” Justin said. “Once you get settled you can start working with that editor and get it ready for publication. But in the meanwhile, we’ll have to use some of your money for the basics. It’s the only way we can be independent of Ron.” 

“That’s what I want,” said Brian. “If it’s possible.”

“It’s possible, Brian.” Justin wondered if Brian had any idea of just how much money he had gotten for his advance. A hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money, even after taxes. But for the moment it was all Brian had to live on until he made some money from his book. Unless he was going to rely on Ron. “One more thing, Brian. If Ron... if he starts, you know, bothering you in any way, I want you to tell me. Because I know that Ron still thinks about you all the time. I know that he does. Maybe he thinks he loves you or that he still ‘owns’ you or whatever the hell. I don’t really care what Ron’s motive is. But you’re MY lover, Brian, not Ron’s! And I want everyone to know that.”

“They will, Justin.” Brian smiled at Justin’s serious expression. “I’m not planning to slink back into the closet now that I’m out of the Quad.”

“I didn’t think you would go back into the closet, Brian,” Justin replied. “That would be awfully hard to do after your ‘New Yorker’ piece. But forget about anyone else, Brian. Most of all I want YOU to know how much I love you! And I don’t give a fuck what Ron thinks or what Ron wants. He’s in my life now and I can’t do anything about it. He may even marry my stupid mother and be my fucking stepfather, if you can imagine that!” 

“I doubt Ron is planning to marry anyone, no offense to your mom, Justin,” Brian countered.

“Who knows what will happen?” Justin shrugged. “But I don’t want Ron to turn the screws on YOU, Brian. Not ever! He may have been your jocker for most of the years you were in Stanton, but I’m your boyfriend now! And I’ll kick Ron’s ass if he tries anything. Get it?”

Brian gaped at Justin in surprise. Then he saluted sharply. “Yes, SIR! I get it, SIR!”

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole!” Justin swatted Brian’s arm. “I’m not kidding!” But then Justin stopped smiling. “Unless you... you still have feelings for Ron? More than you have feelings for me?”

But Brian shook his head. “No, Justin. I have feelings for Ron, but not like that. He was my mentor and he was my lover. But that was in the past. I don’t have those kinds of feelings for Ron anymore and I haven’t for a long time. I think you know that already, Justin.”

“I only wanted to be sure.” Justin grinned. Then he took hold of Brian’s face and pulled him down to kiss him, right there on the sidewalk in front of the Liberty Diner

“Faggots!” shouted some man across the street. “Fucking fags!”

“Jealous?” Justin yelled back. “Get your own boyfriend! This one’s mine!”

“Be careful, Justin,” Brian warned. He grabbed Justin’s arm and pulled him towards the door of the diner. “This may be a gay area, but obviously not everyone around here thinks so.”

“Some people are fucking jerks!” Justin muttered. “We’re not hurting anyone!”

“I mean it, Justin,” said Brian. “Kissing on a public street is a bit much. Before I went into Stanton if two guys had done that on the sidewalk, no matter what part of town it was, they would have been beaten up – or worse! I don’t think things have changed that much since 1968.”

“I hate the way people are,” Justin complained. “Some day it’ll be different.”

“Maybe,” Brian replied. “But don’t take chances. Why risk it when we have that great apartment to fuck in?”

“Yeah!” Justin grinned mischievously. “And we’ve only used two of the rooms so far!”

“God you are a horny kid!” Brian laughed. “Are we going inside? Or back to the apartment for another round?”

“We better go inside,” said Justin. “Debbie’s already seen us.” 

Justin turned and waved at Debbie Novotny, who was standing in the front window of the diner, her hands on her hips, watching them intently.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Liberty Diner.

Chapter 30

 

“Hell’s bells! I was wondering when you’d show up, Sunshine!” Deb exclaimed. “I was shorthanded at breakfast this morning!”

“Sorry, Deb,” Justin said sheepishly. “I’ll be in tomorrow bright and early. But Brian and I were... up kind of late last night.”

“Hello, Mrs. Novotny,” Brian greeted her. It seemed so odd to see her in this diner instead of in the Visitors’ Gallery with Michelle.

“Hiya, Bri Baby!” Deb returned. “So, you two were up all night screwing your brains out, huh?”

“Debbie!” said Justin, turning red. “People can hear you!”

“So?” Deb snorted. “Sunshine, if I had this sexy man fresh out of the joint that’s what I’d be doing! Except I wouldn’t leave the bed for at least a couple of days!”

“The only reason we left is to have... brunch,” said Brian, making a face. “Whatever the fuck brunch is. So let’s have some.”

“Take a seat, gentlemen,” said Deb, ushering them to an empty booth. She handed both of them menus. “You can read this, honey,” she said to Brian. “But I’m sure Sunshine can tell you what’s good better than anyone else.”

Justin handed his menu back to Deb and gestured for Brian to do the same. “The Brunch Special. Steak, eggs, hash browns, and English muffins. With plenty of gravy.”

“That sounds like a lot of food,” said Brian.

“You need to keep your strength up, Brian.” Justin insisted. “You’re going to eat it! All of it. And black coffee, too.”

“Two Brunch Specials, extra gravy, and coffee. Coming right up!” Deb cackled. Then she headed back to the window to put the order in.

“This place is pretty busy,” Brian commented. All of the booths were filled and the counter was also crowded. Maybe too crowded. There were people in the booth in front of them and in the booth behind them. Brian kept looking around, trying to see who was sitting nearby. It made him nervous to have so many strangers so close to him and Justin.

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Justin replied. “The diner is always humming at this hour. I’m usually at class during this shift. But mornings are busy, too. I make a lot of tips!”

“Do you really like working in this place?” Brian asked. “Because I don’t want you to knock yourself out, Justin. You should be concentrating on school instead of carrying trays.”

Justin squeezed Brian’s hand in reassurance. “I want to work, Brian. That’s the only way I can at least try to keep some of my independence. Between my dad and Ron – and you, too – I owe other people way too much! I want to do my share. And it doesn’t interfere with class, believe me!”

“Justin, don’t put me in with Ron or your father,” Brian said. “You don’t owe me anything. This is about both of us, working together. That’s the way we did it in the Quad. A partnership, right? You contribute what you can and I contribute what I can. But we don’t ‘owe’ each other anything. That’s the way it has to be.”

Justin grinned at his lover. “Then that’s the way it will be. And I didn’t mean to group you in with Ron or my dad, Brian. I’m sorry.”

“Well, hello! Where’s your apron today, cutie?”

They both looked up to see one the diner regulars passing them on his way to a seat at the counter. He was a short, skinny, well-dressed man who was constantly putting the moves on Justin.

“Oh, hi,” said Justin. “I’m not working today.”

The man raised his eyebrows. “Getting acquainted with some new customers, huh?” he said, looking Brian up and down. “What’s your name, stud? You better watch out. Little Sweetie-pie here has a pretend boyfriend in prison who he uses to scare away Big Bad Wolves! Unless that particular Wolf takes his pretty little fancy!”

Brian glowered. Who the fuck was this guy? Brian had no idea, but he was obviously making Justin uncomfortable. 

So Brian stood up. At 6 foot 3 he towered over the customer. And with his layers of sweaters under his sweatshirt he looked more bulked up than he really was. Add an unshaven face and a deadly-serious expression and you had a very intimidating presence.

“I’m the ‘pretend’ boyfriend, motherfucker,” said Brian in a low, deep voice. “And I just got out of prison yesterday. Would you like to know what we do to mouthy little creeps like you in the joint?”

The man backed away in horror. “N... no, thank you, sir. I’d rather not know, if you please. Sorry I bothered you. Enjoy your lunch.” And the man fled out of the diner.

Justin sat with his mouth open – and then he burst into laughter. “That was priceless, Brian! I’ve been trying to get that guy to stop hitting on me ever since I started working here!”

But Brian wasn’t smiling. “That’s what I mean about this fucking place!” he grumbled as he sat back down in the booth. “In the Quad no one would dare say shit like that to another guy’s punk. He’d get his ass kicked – or worse! These people have no respect at all!”

“They don’t mean any harm, Brian,” Justin said. “That’s just the way some of the guys are around here. It’s a compliment because they think I’m cute!”

“I don’t give a shit! I still don’t like it!” Brian grunted.

“Chasing away my customers?” said Debbie as she brought their plates. “That’s not too good for business, you know?”

“Sorry, Deb,” said Justin. “Brian was only telling the guy not to bother me.”

“Okay, Sunshine,” Debbie replied. “But remember, Bri Baby – this ain’t prison. You can’t go around strong-arming or putting the evil eye on people just because they got a smart mouth. You can get yourself into trouble that way.”

“Whatever the fuck,” Brian mumbled. He glanced at Justin, who was shaking his head. “But anyone who messes with my kid – I can’t help it, Mrs. Novotny. Everything around here makes me fucking nervous.”

“Shut up and eat your steak!” Deb commanded. “Both of you! I have lemon squares for dessert – but only if you clean your plates!”

Brian ate his food. It was good and there was plenty of it. But he still felt uneasy. Wary. Like a tiger let loose in an unfamiliar jungle.

And he wasn’t about to let his guard down anytime soon.


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian visits the Prisoners' Legal Defense office.

Chapter 31

 

March 1979

 

“Brian!”

Julie jumped up from behind her desk when she saw her most infamous client standing in the doorway.

“Hey, Julie.” 

Brian glanced around the office nervously. He had followed Justin’s directions and taken the bus downtown, then wandered around for about a half hour, looking for the right building. Finally, he saw the sign for the Prisoners’ Legal Defense and went inside an old brownstone.

“I wasn’t expecting you here so early,” she said, taking his hand. “I thought Justin was going to bring you this afternoon?”

“He had a class and I didn’t want him to cut it,” Brian explained. “Besides, I don’t need a nursemaid to lead me around the city. I found my way here okay.”

“Of course you did, Brian,” said Julie, carefully. She had a lot of experience with ex-cons and she knew that they were often secretly scared of the outside and so put up a defensive front. Brian had been in the Quad for a decade and that was a long time to be isolated from the hustle of the real world. “I’m glad you found us so easily!”

He shrugged. “It was no problem. I got here, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did, Brian. Is that a new jacket?” Julie asked, changing the subject. She knew that Justin had been planning to take Brian shopping for some clothes, but especially for a winter coat. This black leather motorcycle jacket made Brian look much bigger and more substantial than he actually was. But maybe that was the point. “It looks very nice on you.”

“It’s from this second-hand store on Liberty Avenue. Justin and I went there yesterday and I got a few things,” said Brian. He stroked the leather fondly. “It cost 40 bucks. I also got a pair of jeans for $7 and a shirt for $5.”

“You know, Brian,” said Julie. “You can afford to buy some new clothes, too. You do have money in the bank.”

“I know,” Brian replied. “We stopped and got money out of a machine at the bank. Justin says that I need to get a card to get money out. And that I have to get some checks, too. But stuff costs so fucking much! They wanted $25 for a pair of Levis at another place we went. I thought this leather jacket was expensive until Justin told me that a new one would probably set me back $100! Shit! That’s ridiculous!”

“You’ll get used to the prices, honey,” said Julie. “You’ll get used to everything. Take your time.”

“I know,” said Brian. “I’m trying.” He walked around the room, peering out the window, and gazing at the shelves, the walls, Julie’s desk. “I can’t believe I’m finally here in the PLD office. I never thought I’d see it.”

“It isn’t much,” Julie apologized. She was aware that her desk was old and the chairs worse for wear and that the walls needed a fresh coat of paint.

“Oh, no,” Brian countered. “I was going to say how great everything looks! All of these books! And there’s so much room in here. And an electric typewriter, too. Wow! It’s... much more than I imagined.”

Julie had never been inside the Stanton Law Library because she wasn’t permitted that far into the Quad, but Ron had said it was primitive at best. Now she looked around her own office with Brian’s eyes. Yes, he would see how much they had compared with what he was used to. It put many things into perspective.

“Would you like an electric typewriter of your own, Brian?” Julie asked. It hadn’t occurred to her that he didn’t have any sort of typewriter now that he was out of prison, let alone an electric. “We can get you one right away.”

“Oh, I couldn’t let you go to the trouble.” Brian seemed uncomfortable with her offer. Wary of anyone offering him something. Perhaps wondering what strings were attached.

“It’s no trouble at all, Brian,” Julie insisted. “You can pick one out and we’ll charge it to your account. An IBM is a good model. Maybe you can look for one while you’re shopping with Justin? Or I can call our office supplier for you?” Julie looked Brian in the eye. “Brian, you have some money, remember? You can afford to buy a typewriter. And new clothes, not second-hand. This isn’t charity. You’ve earned that money. Anything you make with your book is only what you deserve. Do you understand that?”

“Sort of,” said Brian, slowly. “But it’s hard, Julie. Everything is coming at me too fast. I wake up in the morning and I don’t have the right clothes to wear. I don’t know what’s going on in the world. I don’t ‘get’ what people are talking about. I mean, I read the papers while I was inside. I followed the news. But that doesn’t tell you what it’s really like in the world. People look different. They talk different. Act different. Even Justin – he’s so open now. He’s so relaxed when we walk down the street, while I feel like I’m under siege every minute.”

“He wasn’t in for as long as you were, Brian,” Julie reminded him. “And he’s been out for months. He’s had more time to adjust. It wasn’t easy for Justin at first, Brian. He was seeing a therapist. And he was having nightmares. Ron told me about that. He had a tough time. But he’s so happy that you’re out now. That’s all he cares about.”

“I know,” Brian agreed. “And he’s still seeing that psychologist. He told me. I think he wants me to see the guy, too. But... it’s hard for me to talk to people about my life and my fucking feelings. That’s why I wrote my book – so I wouldn’t have to say the words out loud!”

“You may have to say those words out loud, Brian,” Julie said. “When the book is published you’ll be asked to give readings from it. We’ve already had at least 20 inquiries about whether Brian Kinney would be available to speak and I expect we’ll get even more after your re-trial.”

“Speak?” said Brian. “Speak where? And about what?”

“At colleges. At law forums. At civics groups. To talk about your life. About prison. About all sorts of things,” Julie replied. “Brian, you are now a well-known man, whether you realize it or not. When we go to trial it will be a media event. And when your book is published you’ll have to be ready for what might happen to your life. If the book is a best seller you may well be a very famous person. You may be asked to be on television and the radio. You’ll have to give interviews. And readings. You may even be asked by your publisher to go on a book tour. But that’s a way down the line, Brian. Perhaps next fall. But you’ll need to prepare yourself.”

“Fuck,” Brian whispered. “This is getting beyond me, Julie. I... I don’t know if I can do that kind of stuff! I... I’m scared shitless even to cross the street without Justin!” He looked at her searchingly. “Now you know the truth.”

“Brian, honey,” said Julie, squeezing his hand. “That’s normal. You’ll get over it. I promise that you will. Don’t freak yourself out.”

But Brian shook his head sadly.

The door of Julie’s office opened suddenly and Ron burst in.

“Brian!” Ron cried excitedly. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were here! I walked by the front desk and Doris told me that you’d come in!”

“Hey, Ron,” said Brian. “I just stopped by to see Julie and the office.”

Ron grabbed Brian’s hand. “Come into my office! We have a lot to discuss.”

Brian hesitated, but then, after giving Julie a farewell glance, he went along with Ron. They would have to be alone eventually. Might as well get it over with now.

“Brian, I’ve been thinking about this day for a long, long time,” Ron said as he led Brian down the hall to his own office. “There’s so much to talk about. And so much that we have to plan, Baby! So very, very much!”


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian draws the line.

Chapter 32

 

Ron escorted Brian into his private office. Brian was surprised to see that it was larger and more well-appointed than Julie’s, with an impressive-looking mahogany desk, an oriental rug on the floor, and framed oil paintings on the wall.

“This is... um... a lot fancier than the rest of the office,” Brian blurted out. “I mean, the desk and carpet and all of those paintings. I don’t see anything like that anywhere else in here.” 

Ron smiled smugly. “I like to make a good impression, Brian. There’s no reason that the PLD has to be a low-rent operation. Clients take you much more seriously if you look good and give off the air that you know what you’re doing. This is my old desk from home. These paintings belonged to my father. And this rug I picked up from a client who couldn’t pay me in cash.” Ron leaned against the front of the desk and crossed his arms. “So? Are you impressed?”

“I guess so,” said Brian. He knew that Ron came from a wealthy family and that even his years in prison hadn’t impoverished his wife and children. But now he was seeing Ron in a much different circumstance. In his real element. Not surrounded by the shadow of prison, but the way his PLD clients must see him – as a well-dressed, confident, and successful man. A man Brian didn’t really know at all. 

“John is retiring as the head of the Prisoners’ Legal Defense in a few months – and I’m slated to take his place,” Ron said, proudly. “When I take over I’m planning to re-make it from the ground up. I want the PLD to be not simply a local voice for prisoners’ rights, but a national organization, with branches all over the country. As a former prisoner myself we’ll have increased credibility with the inmates in every prison in America. And we’ll also have a perfect showcase for what we can do in the area of prison reform and pursuing new trials. That’s where you come in, Brian.”

“Me?” said Brian. The way Ron was staring at him was making him uneasy. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“Your trial, Baby,” Ron replied. “Your trial and your forthcoming book, which is certain to be a best seller. I’m planning to use your case as an example of the abuses that still exist in the prisons in this country. Also as an example of what the PLD can do to correct so many wrongs that have been done to prisoners over the years. And you’ll be our main spokesman, Brian.”

Brian licked his dry lips apprehensively. “I don’t think I want to be a spokesman, Ron. I only want all this to be over. I only want to be left alone to live the rest of my life as quietly as possible.”

Ron stopped smiling and stepped toward Brian, putting his hands on Brian’s shoulders. “That’s a very selfish attitude, Brian,” Ron chided. “After all the PLD has done for you, and after all I’ve done for you, you would think that you’d want to pay us back for all the years of work, not to mention all of the money spent, on your case. After spending so many years in the Quad you, of all people, should understand what payback is all about.”

“I know about payback, Ron,” said Brian, steadily. “I’m willing to work. I’m willing to do what I can. But I’m no fucking spokesman for anything! I’m not a glib person who can talk and convince people. I’m no lawyer! I would get muddled and tongue-tied if I was forced to do that kind of stuff. That’s a job for you, Ron, not me.”

“Nonsense, Brian,” Ron insisted. “You’re intelligent and articulate. You’ve never been the least bit hesitant when you were advocating something in which you truly believed. This is your cause, Brian. OUR cause! And we’ll work together. Don’t worry, Baby.” Ron began stroking Brian’s long neck. “I’ll help you. The way I’ve always helped you.”

“Don’t do that,” said Brian, trying to move away. But how could he reject Ron now? After all the years that they were together? After everything they had been through?

Brian closed his eyes and Ron brushed against him intimately. But, to his surprise, Brian felt nothing. Nothing at all. Brian thought of all of the years he had idolized Ron. Loved him. Built his entire existence around him. And he felt nothing now. Only a great emptiness where all that emotion had once lived.

“Stop it,” Brian said more sharply. And he tried to push Ron away. 

But Ron ignored Brian’s protests. Instead he leaned in closer. “I like this leather jacket, Baby.” Ron ran his hands up and down Brian’s back, fingering the leather. “It’s very sexy. I love the feel of it. Smooth and soft and tough – just like you. It’s a good image for you. The rebel WITH a cause. Like James Dean. The bad boy who is really a hero underneath. That’s what the public will see. And that’s how the press will write about you.”

“Justin picked the jacket out,” Brian said bluntly. “And he paid for it.”

“Yes, Justin’s a sweet kid,” Ron murmured. “I’ll get you some money from your own account, Baby. Then you can pay Justin back.”

“I don’t need to pay him back, Ron,” said Brian. “It was his present to me.”

“You want presents, Baby?” asked Ron. “Anything you need, let me know. Do you want a new TV set? That one in Justin’s apartment is pretty old. Or what about a new stereo system? And I know you’ll need a car to get around the city. But first you have to get your driver’s license. We may have to wait until after your trial for that, but until then Justin can drive you around.”

“I don’t need all of those things, Ron! They aren’t important – don’t you see?” said Brian, pushing him away abruptly. “And... and I wish you would lay off me, okay? Do you think I came down here to give you a cheap thrill in the afternoon?” Brian took a step backwards. And then another one. Away from Ron. “I thought you were engaged to Justin’s mother? Not to mention that I’m sure you’re still fucking Julie whenever you get the opportunity. And God knows how many other females! Shit, Ron! What are you thinking?”

Ron stared at Brian coolly. “This has nothing to do with Jennifer or any of those women, Brian. This is about us – and that’s something that’s completely apart from any woman. You know that.” 

“In other words, you need a little ass to go along with your pussy – and now I’m available again?” Brian snorted. “What’s wrong with the guys you pick up on Liberty Avenue whenever the mood hits you? Does Jennifer Taylor know about those little excursions?”

“That has nothing to do with Jen – or with you, Brian!” Ron retorted. “I’m disappointed in you! You know that our connection is about a lot more than sex. It’s a real partnership – personally, professionally, and physically. I could never have that with any female. You know that, Baby.”

“A partnership?” said Brian. He took a deep breath. “So, Ron, if you really want to be my partner, in every possible way, are we going to live together? Are you ready to tell the world that you’re my partner? My lover? Are you going to stand next to me while I’m being your ‘spokesman’ for the PLD and giving all of those interviews? Are you going to be there, supporting me? As a gay man? Are you going to do that, Ron?”

Ron tossed his head in disgust. “Don’t be silly, Brian! I’m not gay! And you know that I can’t stand up next to you and say such a thing!”

“Why not, Ron?” asked Brian. “It’s all right for me to be your ‘showcase’ and your ‘associate’ in public. But only in private can I be anything more than your dirty little secret! Because it’s okay to fuck a guy in prison. Because that’s not being a fag, right? But once you’re out, you have to be more careful. People might get the wrong impression. They might start to think you really ARE a faggot. Unless it’s permitted because you only fuck. As long as you’re the jocker. As long as you never have to take it up the ass! But what would they all say if they knew how much you liked to suck cock, too? That’s something you never let anyone know about in the Quad, Ron! Because they might get the wrong idea about exactly what you are! Like that you actually were a queer!”

“Shut up, Brian!” Ron warned. “That’s something personal between the two of us! And what we do together is no one else’s business!”

“I think it’s Justin’s business,” Brian replied. “Because he really IS my partner. He’s not afraid of what he is or of what I am. Because I am a queer – and he’s a queer, too! And that’s the only way it can be. Justin’s not hiding anything and neither am I.” 

“You aren’t being reasonable, Brian,” said Ron, trying not to let his anger take over.

Brian zipped up his leather jacket and turned away. “I’m sorry, Ron, but this isn’t about being reasonable. This is about reality. I know I owe you a lot, but I don’t owe you that. I already gave you that for eight years. I never denied you, Ron! I worked for you in the Law Library and I cleaned your fucking cell and I washed your fucking clothes. And I never said no to your dick, no matter what I was feeling. But I’m not in the Quad now. And I have to live the only way I can. I have to be what I am, truly. Otherwise I might as well go back inside the joint and forget about the outside world.”

“Baby, I....” Ron began.

But Brian cut him off. He jerked open the door of Ron’s office. “Tell Julie to call me when she wants to meet about the trial. And I’ll see you around.”

Ron stood and watched Brian leave. He couldn’t make himself say anything at all to stop him. Ron didn’t know what to say to stop him. Brian shut the door behind him. Shut it hard.

“Baby,” Ron repeated to the closed door. “Baby!”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindsay Peterson's interesting student.

Chapter 33

 

“Here’s my assignment, Miss Peterson,” said Justin, handing his instructor three sheets of carefully typed paper. “I really enjoyed doing it. I love writing about the French Impressionists.”

“Thank you, Justin,” said Lindsay Peterson, putting Justin’s essay into her briefcase. “I love the Impressionist painters, too. And I love to see a student who gets so excited by Art History. Most of the class are only taking my course to fulfill their Humanities requirement, so they aren’t entirely enthusiastic about the subject.”

“Oh, no, Miss Peterson,” said Justin. “I’m really interested in Art History!”

Justin was in such a good mood that he was practically bouncing. Lindsay had never seen her student in such a lively mood. It was so infectious that Lindsay couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Besides,” he added. “My boyfriend is living with me now and I’m so happy that it’s amazing! It’s easy to do your assignments when you’re happy!”

“Well, how nice for you,” Lindsay replied carefully. 

She wasn’t certain what to say about Justin’s statement. She knew that he was gay. In fact, although he was far from the only gay student at the university, or even in her class, he was one of only a few who were completely open about their sexuality. Justin often pointed out homoerotic imagery in the paintings they were studying or asked specific questions about gay artists. Occasionally Lindsay heard some of the other students mocking Justin behind his back, but he didn’t appear to care. He seemed much more mature and focused than the average freshman and above petty gossip and college antics.

Lindsay had even gone so far as to mention Justin to her girlfriend, Melanie, who was an attorney at a large firm in Pittsburgh. Both women were out to their friends and some of their colleagues, but, like most gay couples, they were also wary of being too open about their relationship to strangers.

“Times are changing, Lindz,” Melanie had said to her lover. “Maybe this kid feels that he has nothing to hide. Personally, I think it’s a refreshing attitude. I wish I could have been that open when I was in college, but it was really risky back then.”

“I know,” Lindsay had replied, thinking about Justin’s honesty. And it made both women extremely curious about Lindsay’s unusually straight-forward student.

“Is your boyfriend a student here at CMU?” Lindsay asked as she and Justin walked out of the lecture hall.

“No,” said Justin. “He’s not a student.” For a moment Justin hesitated, but then he continued on. “Actually, Brian just got out of prison. He was inside for 10 years.”

Lindsay tried not to look shocked. “Prison,” she repeated. “Oh, my! That’s... interesting.”

“You may have seen him on the news, or read about his case in the papers,” said Justin, noting her reaction. “He was convicted of the Penn State Bombings, but he’s innocent. He was released on new evidence and now he’s getting a new trial.”

Lindsay stared at Justin in astonishment. “The Penn State Bombers? Do you mean Brian Kinney? He’s your boyfriend?” 

The Penn State case had been infamous when Lindsay had been in college and she and her friends had followed the original trial avidly in the newspapers. They all agreed at the time that Brian Kinney had gotten a raw deal and she had commented to Mel only the other day that it was incredible that the man was finally getting another day in court.

“Yes,” Justin said proudly. “Brian Kinney is my boyfriend.”

“But he’s been in prison for so long!” Lindsay returned. “How did you meet him? Were you penpals?”

Justin’s smile left his face, which suddenly became serious. “I haven’t told anyone else here at school except for my English instructor, who is a friend of Amy Carver, my teacher in Stanton. But... but I was in prison, too, Miss Peterson.”

“You?” Lindsay couldn’t believe it. Justin seemed to be a very clean-cut, upper middle class boy. “You were in prison?”

“Yes,” said Justin. “For almost a year. On a drug charge that got vacated. It’s a long story, but that’s where I met Brian. He was my cellmate – and my lover. I’m not ashamed of it, but a lot of people wouldn’t understand if they knew. People judge you when they know you’ve been in prison. I wanted people at CMU, both my professors and the other students, to see me, Justin Taylor, and not 1978-61842.”

Lindsay frowned. “What’s that?”

“My number,” Justin replied. “What I was in Stanton Correctional. An inmate isn’t a person, Miss Peterson, he’s a number. But Brian gave me back my name. He gave me back my humanity. And he also did everything he could to get me out. And now he’s out, too!” Justin grinned once again. “It’s the real beginning of everything!”

“I’m so happy for you, Justin,” said Lindsay, sincerely. They walked out of the building and into the bright afternoon sunshine. It was a cold March day, but the sun was warm and they could both feel that spring was finally in the air.

“Thanks, Miss Peterson,” he said. “I have to get going now. This is Brian’s first weekend outside and I want to make it special for him. He’s still not used to being out or around a lot of strange people, so we’re going to take it one step at a time.”

“That’s a fine idea, Justin,” Lindsay agreed. “You have a wonderful weekend!” 

Wait until I tell Melanie about this new development, she thought. As a lawyer Mel’s going to find it extremely interesting. And as a hopeless romantic, Lindsay found the story extremely touching. Even beautiful in a melancholy way. She hoped that the two men would find some happiness after all they had been through.

“Good luck!” she called after Justin.

And he turned and waved at her before he dashed across campus, heading for the bus stop.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian makes dinner… sort of.

Chapter 34

 

When Justin walked into the apartment Brian was in the kitchen.

Then Justin heard a crash.

“Shit!”

“Brian? What are you doing?” he called.

Justin saw his lover crouching on the kitchen floor, surrounded by the remnants what looked like the explosion of a lettuce truck.

Brian stood up slowly. He was holding a large, empty bowl in his hands. “I thought I’d make something for dinner. But everything in the freezer was frozen solid. So I tried to make a salad. I figured I couldn’t screw that up too much.”

“What happened?” asked Justin, looking at the disorder in the kitchen.

“I dropped it,” said Brian, dejectedly. “I fucking dropped it! I can’t even do that much right!”

“Here, let me help you,” said Justin. He set down his bookbag, took off his coat, and retrieved a dustpan and broom from the cupboard. Between the two of them, they cleaned up the stray pieces of shredded lettuce and deposited them in the trash.

“So much for my attempt at cooking,” said Brian. “If you can call destroying a head of lettuce cooking.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Brian,” Justin reassured him. “I’m sure it would have been a great salad.”

“At least I wasn’t stupid enough to put the dressing on it before I dropped it,” he said. “Then it really would have been a fucking mess!”

Brian stalked out of the kitchen and sat down heavily on the sofa, shaking his head. Justin followed him and slipped beside his lover.

“It doesn’t matter,” Justin whispered, wrapping his arms around him. “Tomorrow we’ll go to Shop N Save and buy more lettuce. You can take your frustrations out on that – and I can keep an eye on you so you don’t totally tear up our kitchen!”

“How do you know I’m frustrated?” Brian grumbled.

“By your expression,” said Justin. “And I know that you went to the PLD office today. Which means that you saw Ron. That’s how I know you’re frustrated.”

“No shit,” Brian muttered. “What the fuck do I do about him, Justin?”

“Deal with him.” Justin tightened his hold around Brian. “The way you’ve dealt with everything in your life. The way you’ve survived so far. By doing what you know is the right thing.”

“But it’s hard when it’s someone who....” Brian bit at his lip. “Ron doesn’t seem to realize that I’m not the same person I used to be. This isn’t the Quad. This isn’t the two of us alone against the fucking world. He doesn’t understand that I have my own life now.”

“Ron is certainly living HIS own life,” Justin reminded him. “I don’t see him pretending that things haven’t changed. Ron’s moved on in a big way, so he shouldn’t be surprised that you have, too.”

“Did you know that Ron is taking over the PLD? John is finally retiring and there’s no way that Julie would want to run the thing. She wants to be in court, not doing paperwork and sweet-talking clients and donors.” Brian rubbed his aching forehead. “But that’s the perfect situation for Ron. He’ll be the boss again. He’ll be in the spotlight. He loves all of that shit! But....”

“But he wants you to be his ‘associate,’” Justin jumped in. “He wants you next to him. His ‘perfect inmate.’ I figured that was his plan when I heard him talking to my mother about John stepping down. But I didn’t know it was official.”

“It’s official,” said Brian. “But I told him that I couldn’t do it. I turned my back on him. And that feels....”

Justin rubbed Brain’s neck gently. When Brian got bad headaches he liked Justin to massage him like that. Relieve all of the tension that built up in his shoulders and his neck and up into his beautiful head.

“I know,” said Justin, softly. “It feels crummy. But it’s your life, Brian. It doesn’t belong to Ron – or anyone else.”

“I don’t know what the hell I want to spend the rest of my life doing,” said Brian. “But whatever it is, I want it to be my decision! I don’t want Ron arranging my entire existence to suit himself and his ambitions. I know he thinks that he’s doing me a favor, but this is only putting even more pressure on me! Then Ron tells me that my book needs to be a best seller! I mean – fuck! It’s not finished! I haven’t even started working with the editor yet! But Ron is telling me that it has to be a success – or else the PLD will suffer. What kind of crap is that?”

“That’s Ron’s bullshit, Brian,” Justin soothed. He pushed Brian back on the sofa and put his legs up. Then he straddled Brian, sitting on top of him. “Ignore it. Listen to Julie. She’s your attorney, not Ron. Remember how we were going to go slowly? Take one thing at a time?”

“Yes,” Brian closed his eyes. “I remember.”

“Then that’s what we’re going to do, Brian.” Justin began unbuttoning Brian’s shirt. “First things first.”

“What are you doing?” Brian’s eyes were shining with a bright green light as they looked up at Justin.

“The first thing – what else?” Justin replied. He pulled Brian’s shoulder up from the sofa slightly and slipped his shirt off, tossing it onto the coffee table. “And now me.” Justin pulled his own sweater over his head and set it beside Brian’s shirt.

“Isn’t this sofa a little bit narrow for this kind of thing?” asked Brian.

“The bunks in the Quad aren’t that much wider,” Justin said. “But they were wide enough. Or have you already forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” Brian answered. “I never forget. It’s my fucking curse.”

“It doesn’t seem like such a curse to me.” Justin slipped his hands under Brian’s undershirt. He could feel Brian’s soft skin. The muscles of his chest and his back. But also his ribs. His spine. He was still so thin, as if he were knitted together of delicate silk over an unfinished frame. Justin was inches shorter, but his own body was much more solid, more a part of the material world than Brian’s would ever be. Something within his lover seemed disconnected from mundane reality.

Justin fingered Brian’s knife scar very gently and Brian shuddered under that touch. Life and death. That was the difference. Brian had been on that edge. But he had returned. He had returned for Justin.

Justin unbuttoned Brian’s jeans. Brian shifted his hips as Justin slid the faded jeans down over his narrow hips and discarded them.

“We have to get rid of these old undershorts once and for all,” Justin commented, removing them and dropping them on the floor. “Like this.”

Brian pulled his undershirt off over his head. “I don’t need a lot of new stuff, Justin. I can do okay without anything at all!” And then he smiled. His revealed body was pale, but with a natural golden sheen.

“Hold it!” Justin ordered. “One second! Don’t move!”

Justin jumped up and went into the bedroom. He undressed quickly and grabbed the jar of vaseline from the bedside table.

“That was longer than a second,” said Brian, watching Justin saunter back into the living room naked. 

“I wanted you to miss me.” Justin set the jar on the coffee table. “Another first. First time in the living room. Also the first time on this sofa.” He climbed on top of Brian.

“Better than the first time on the kitchen floor, covered with wilting salad,” Brian murmured.

“That’s tomorrow,” said Justin, opening the jar and slicking up Brian’s already stiff cock. Then he lowered himself onto it, slowly. Very slowly. Brian held onto Justin’s hips, steadying him.

“Let’s not worry about tomorrow,” Brian breathed. “Fuck tomorrow!”

“Yes!” Justin hissed as Brian’s cock filled him. “Fuck!” He took a deep breath. “Tomorrow.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Night.

Chapter 35

 

“I think you’ll like this place,” said Justin. It was still early in the dinner hour and the restaurant was only about a quarter full. “It really fills up later on a Saturday night, especially if there’s a big game. They show all the games on those TV sets.”

Justin pointed to the televisions set above the bar and in every corner of the dining room.

“Great,” said Brian. “You can’t go anywhere without having to watch fucking television! Don’t people sit and eat anymore? Or talk?”

“This is a pizza place, Brian,” Justin laughed. “People come here to eat and drink beer and watch the game. If they want conversation...? Well, I don’t know where they go then. Some place we can’t afford.”

“I thought I was rich?” Brian sniffed. “That’s what everyone is always telling me. But all I have in my pocket is 20 bucks that you got out of that machine for me.”

“Don’t push it, Brian,” said Justin. “That’s plenty for tonight. We need your advance money to live on. For rent and clothes and groceries – and, eventually, a car. Not for fancy dinners! Until then pizza is good enough.”

“Yes, dear,” Brian answered sarcastically.

He was excited to go out to dinner with Justin, but he was also nervous. It was hard to eat in public. Too many strangers around him. Too much pressure. When they had gone to the diner for brunch Brian ended up taking most of his food home in a doggy bag because his stomach couldn’t take it.

The pizzeria was on the outer edge of the so-called gay area of Liberty Avenue, so Brian mainly saw hetero couples and a few families scattered around the dining room. Songs from ‘Grease’ were blaring from a jukebox next to the bar. 

A gum-chewing young waitress approached them, menus in hand.

“Table for two, please,” said Justin.

“Smoking or non-smoking?” she asked.

“What’s that mean?” Brian eyed Justin questioningly.

“They have different sections for people who smoke and people who don’t want to smell smoke while they’re eating,” Justin explained. “Non-smoking, please.”

“This way.” The waitress led them to a table in the middle of the room.

Justin sat down and took the offered menu. But Brian stood there, glancing around.

“Brian, what’s the matter?” Justin looked around, too, trying to see what Brian was looking at. And then he understood. He stood up. “Can we have another table?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” the waitress moaned, snapping her gum.

“We’d like that booth, in the corner. The last one, against the far wall.” Justin pointed.

She shrugged and took them to the booth, dropping the menus on the table before she left. 

Brian slid across from Justin, looking relieved. “You probably think I’m nuts,” he said.

“No, Brian,” said his partner. “I should have known that you’d feel uncomfortable sitting out in the open like that, exposed on all sides. I don’t blame you. Whatever puts you at ease. But remember – no one is out to get you. You’re safe here. It’s all right.”

“I know,” Brian replied. “My head keeps saying it, but my body doesn’t believe it. I still feel like I’m constantly on guard. That anything could happen any minute. That someone could jump up and try to take me out. Or try to hurt you.” Brian stared down at the wooden table. “I still have dreams that I’m in the Quad.”

“So do I, Brian,” Justin admitted. “My psychologist says that’s normal. But that’s all they are – dreams. Nightmares.” Justin grinned. “Besides, this corner booth is much more private. I can reach over and hold your hand and we won’t get thrown out for being faggots. At least, I hope we won’t!”

“Maybe we should order our food before we start up a civil rights lawsuit, okay?” said Brian. He opened the menu, swept his eyes over it, and then immediately closed it. “You order. I have no fucking idea what to get.”

“Brian, you have to get used to the idea that you can order anything you want!” Justin laughed. “This isn’t ‘Meatloaf Day’ in the Chow Hall. Get what YOU like.”

“I’ll eat whatever you’re eating,” Brian stated. “What difference does it make? It’s only food.”

Justin shook his head in resignation. The waitress came over and he ordered a large sausage pizza with onions and green peppers. “Anything else, Brian?” he asked.

“Whatever you want,” Brian replied.

“Two Cokes,” Justin finished. After the waitress went on her way, Justin leaned over. “I’m going to kill you, Brian!”

“I know,” he said. “Three times last night almost knocked me out completely!”

“Not kill you in bed, you jerk!” Justin huffed. “Don’t let me make all of your decisions for you, Brian.”

“Why not?” Brian shrugged. “You always make the right decision. That sounds like a good pizza.”

“But what if I’d ordered something you didn’t like?” Justin retorted.

“You wouldn’t have,” said Brian. “I trust you.”

“I give up!” Justin rolled his eyes.

Justin told Brian about some of his classes while they waited for the pizza. “Miss Peterson said that she’s pretty certain I’ll get into the Life Studio. I showed her some of my sketches and she really liked them.” Justin smirked. “She asked who my model was. I bet she thinks you’re hot, Brian!”

Brian blushed. “Why would some female be interested in me?”

“Why wouldn’t she be? You’re tall and great looking,” Justin returned. “Even the waitress was checking you out.”

“That’s your vivid imagination, kid,” Brian said.

“And you have a good personality, too,” Justin added.

“Man, now you are really projecting! I’ve never had a good personality.” Brian sat back in the booth. “I’ve always been nothing but trouble!”

“Then I must like trouble,” Justin replied. “Women like bad boys, Brian. And so do I. That black motorcycle jacket definitely helps the image.”

Brian snorted. “I don’t have an image!”

“That’s what you think,” Justin whispered as the waitress brought over the pizza and set it on the table between them.

“See?” said Brian, taking a bite. “This is exactly what I would have ordered.”

“I am SO going to kill you,” Justin sighed.

As they ate the pizza Justin watched his lover carefully. He seemed much more relaxed tonight. They had spent all Saturday afternoon at the mall, which had been an arduous experience. Brian hated trying on clothes. He hated salesmen hovering over him. He hated making a decision about what to buy, what color, and how many. By the time they got back to the apartment they were both in foul moods. Only a long session in bed and then the shower turned things around.

“Brian, I wanted to ask you something,” Justin began slowly. “After we finish eating would you like to go somewhere else?”

“Like where?” asked Brian.

“Like to a bar,” said Justin, hesitantly.

“A bar?” Brian was puzzled. Neither of them were big drinkers. Brian had drunk exactly a half a bottle of beer since he’d been out – and Justin had finished the other half. “Why do you want to go to a bar?”

“See, it’s a... a gay bar,” said Justin. “It’s not far from our apartment. I heard the guys who come into the diner talking about it. They have a pool table and a dart board and a jukebox.”

“A gay bar?” repeated Brian. He’d never been in a gay bar in his life. When he’d been in college it would have been unheard of. Gay bars were sleazy, semi-illegal places full of creepy characters. The cops used to raid them regularly, arresting the hapless patrons and publishing their names in the newspaper to humiliate them. Brian knew that things had changed since the 1960’s, but still....

“Brian, we could sit together there and hold hands and nobody would give a damn!” said Justin. “There would be other gay men there. You’d see that we aren’t alone. It isn’t only the two of us. There are a lot of queers in Pittsburgh. They come into the diner and they dance at the disco and they go to this bar.” Justin reached out and put his hand over Brian’s, squeezing it. “We don’t have to go there tonight. We don’t have to go there at all. But... aren’t you curious?”

“I guess I am,” Brian admitted. “A gay bar, huh? If you want to go, Justin, then I’ll go, too. What’s this place called?”

“Woody’s,” said Justin. “On Liberty Avenue.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Justin check out something new… a gay bar.

Chapter 36

 

March 1979

 

“What’ll it be, gentlemen?” asked Jeff, the bartender.

Jeff looked the two newcomers up and down. Not bad at all, he thought. Young blond chicken, very tight, very cute. And a tall number. Dark hair, lean body, black leather jacket. They’d never been in Woody’s before or Jeff would have remembered. Yes, he always remembered hot guys.

“How about a couple of beers?” said Brian, taking a handful of dollars out of his pocket. He still didn’t have a wallet.

“How old is the kid?” Jeff questioned Brian. He looked pretty young. Maybe too young.

“I’m 20,” said Justin.

Jeff considered. “One beer. But nothing harder, okay? I don’t want to get shut down for serving a minor. Get it, kid?”

“Yes, sir,” said Justin. The last thing he wanted was for them to be thrown out of the place two minutes after they walked in. Especially after it had been his idea to come here.

“Maybe he better have a Coke,” said Brian. “And another for me. Forget the beers. We don’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

Brian glanced around the room. It was Saturday, but still very early in the evening for a bar crowd. A couple of men were playing pool, while others were seated quietly at scattered tables. None of the men Brian saw looked any different from guys in any bar, anywhere. Posters of exotic vacations spots – Key West, Mykonos, Maui, Cancun – featuring hunky men in revealing bathing suits hung on the walls, and the Village People were playing on the jukebox, but otherwise there was nothing that would tell anyone who might wander inside that he was in a gay bar.

“Here you go,” said Jeff, putting two bottles of Rolling Rock on the bar. “On me. I don’t want any good-looking guys to get away. We can always use a couple more in Woody’s.”

“Thanks!” said Justin, picking up a bottle. “This is our first time in here.”

“I figured,” said Jeff. The kid was real cute. He wondered what the two of them were into. What a contrast they’d make in bed, he thought. Jeff was getting hard picturing it. “Things get jumping in here on a Saturday night around 10:00. Sometimes guys go over to the disco later, but a lot stay here until closing. At midnight we show movies in the other room.”

“What kind of movies?” Brian asked. He picked up the other bottle of Rolling Rock. In the low-riders’ tip Cisco was always giving him pruno, a homemade alcoholic sludge that one of the bikers put together with left-over fruit and other odds and ends from the Chow Hall. The thought of the disgusting brew made Brian’s stomach turn slightly. He sipped the beer slowly, thinking that he would have been better off drinking a Coke.

“We got these reels this guy brings in from New York,” said Jeff. “Hardcore action. It’s hot stuff.”

“Wow,” said Justin. “I’ve never seen a gay porno film before.”

“Stick around and enjoy yourself, kid,” Jeff advised. “You two should come back tomorrow. There’s a drag show every Sunday night. Sometimes they have contests, too.”

“A drag show,” said Justin to Brian. “That sounds right up Emmy’s alley.”

“Let’s hope that when Emmett gets out that he has much better things to do with his time than go to drag shows,” said Brian. “It’s one thing to wear drag in the fucking joint and another to do it out in the real world.”

Jeff was eavesdropping on this exchange with great interest. “You know somebody in prison? Is that what you’re talking about?”

Brian glared. He didn’t like strangers butting in on his private conversations. People on the outside were so fucking pushy!

But Justin piped right up. “Our friend, Em, is still inside. He’s a really nice-looking queen when he gets all dressed up. But I’ve never seen a guy in real drag. I mean, with a real lady’s dress and a wig and everything. In the Quad it’s sort of hit and miss.”

“You aren’t telling me that you were in jail, honey?” Jeff said in surprise. “You’re only a baby!”

“I was in for 10 months,” said Justin, almost proudly. “But my conviction got overturned. That’s where Brian and I met. We were cellmates.”

“I think that’s enough chitchat,” said Brian. Justin talking about the Quad was making him uneasy.

“No shit!” Jeff exclaimed with excitement. “That is HOT!”

“Hot?” Brian was taken aback. “You think being in prison is hot?”

“Sure!” said Jeff. “We showed a reel in here a couple of weeks ago that showed a very wild shower scene in prison. And then the guards tied one guy up and took turns on him. I like the group scenes best, you know? You guys ever get into that kind of action when you were in jail?”

What the fuck? thought Brian, recoiling. This man had no clue. No fucking clue at all!

Justin saw the look in his lover’s eyes. He put his hand on Brian’s arm. “Brian, let’s sit down at a table, okay?” 

Brian shrugged, letting Justin lead the way to a small corner table. They sat down and scanned the room, not saying anything for a few minutes.

“That bartender doesn’t know what he’s talking about, Brian,” said Justin, finally. “People on the outside only know about prison from what they see in the movies – even porno movies. It’s not real. They think it’s hot guys having sex all the time. It’s a fantasy.”

“It’s fucked up,” said Brian, sullenly. “That guy was getting hard thinking about men getting raped and abused in prison. He was getting hard thinking about the two of us. I know he was. That makes me fucking angry.”

“He’s not thinking about anything that’s true, Brian,” Justin replied. “Yes, it’s fucked up, but it’s only a movie. Some stupid movie.”

“I don’t want to stick around here and watch anything like that,” said Brian. “Or be around people who think that’s hot.”

“Do you want to go now?” Justin asked. He fingered the paper label on his bottle of beer. He didn’t want to go yet. The evening was only getting started. Justin also thought about the disco down the street. He was longing to go there badly, but he knew that he’d never get Brian inside any time soon. And he wouldn’t go there without Brian. They were a team.

“Hi there, boys!” 

A flamboyant middle-aged man wearing a long pink scarf stopped by the table, staring at the two of them.

“My name is Thommy. What do they call you, dollface?” he asked Justin.

“I’m Justin,” he replied, warily. Maybe this was one of the drag queens the bartender was talking about. “And this is Brian.”

Then the queen sat right down at their table without waiting for an invitation. “Now that we’re old friends, we can get even better acquainted. Anything I can get for you? What are you two boys into?”

“We already have beer, so if you don’t mind...?” Brian said shortly. These people, he thought. So fucking pushy!

“I don’t mean beer, stud,” Thommy laughed. “You into ’ludes? Or grass? A little coke? How much can you afford, honey? Thommy has anything you need. And cheaper than if you try to buy it at Babylon! Anita will charge you double of what I offer. And it’s the same shit – guaranteed!” Thommy leaned over to Justin. “Would you like a sample, dollface? How about one little toot to start the evening off with a bang?” 

“Take that shit away from here,” said Brian. He reached out and grabbed the queen’s arm roughly.

“Ow! That hurts!” Thommy whined, pulling away. “I’m not into rough trade! If you aren’t interested, then say so!” Thommy stood up and brushed himself off. “This is a friendly place – usually. But some guys simply don’t want to be friends!” And the queen stormed off in a huff.

“Let’s get out of here, Brian,” said Justin. “This was a mistake. I... I thought it would be different. I don’t know what I thought it would be like, I guess. Fun. But this isn’t very fun.”

“Live and learn,” said Brian. He drained his bottle of Rolling Rock and set it down. “Let’s get the fuck home.”

They stood up and headed for the door. But Jeff, the bartender, motioned them over. “You guys leaving already?”

“Yeah,” said Brian. “We’re heading out.” He didn’t think he owed anyone a fucking explanation about why they were leaving, let alone a fucking bartender.

“The night’s only getting started!” Jeff insisted. “Here.” He scribbled his phone number on a napkin and handed it to Justin. “If you two want to party, give me a call. My boyfriend’s a cop on the Pittsburgh PD and he’s really built. We’re into any kind of scene – whatever you like. And we’re always looking for another couple to play with. You guys are new around here and I think you’re the hottest guys who’ve come in this dive in a long time, so Greg and I’d be glad to show you the ropes.”

“No offense,” said Brian, taking the napkin out of Justin’s hand and putting it on the bar. “But no thanks.”

Jeff grinned. “Think about it, fellas. If you change your minds, you know where I am. And you won’t be sorry! Greg’s got a 9-inch dick!”

Brian took Justin’s hand and hustled him out of Woody’s and onto Liberty Avenue. A few men jostled them, going inside. Brian noted that small groups of men were heading into the alley down the street, on their way to the disco, Babylon. For all of them, the night was just beginning.

“I’m sorry, Brian,” Justin said, hugging him close. 

“Sorry is bullshit, kid,” Brian replied. “If you want a 9-inch cock, you don’t have to go out to any fucking bar looking for it! You have one right in your own bed!”

“I’m not looking for a 9-inch cock, Brian,” said Justin. “I’m not looking for body parts. Or hot guys who are nothing but strangers. That’s not what it’s all about. If it’s just going to be the two of us, then that’s okay with me. I don’t mind at all. We don’t need anyone else to be happy.”

“No,” said Brian. “We don’t need anyone else.” He buried his face in Justin’s clean, soft hair. “But I need you. And don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Justin breathed, closing his eyes. Suddenly the street seemed empty. It was only the two of them. Men rushed by them, but they were the only ones who mattered. “I’ll never forget, Brian, because I need you, too. So let’s go.”

And they walked down the street, their arms around each other, heading home.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the "in-laws" -- Brian is not looking forward to this!

Chapter 37 

 

“I’m not looking forward to this,” said Brian.

He balked as they approached the door of Jennifer Taylor’s condominium. Sunday dinner with the folks had never been one of his favorite things. Dinners with his own parents had often ended in shouting matches or even blows delivered. Once his old man had picked up an entire plate of spaghetti and meatballs and thrown it against the nearest wall.

Not that Justin’s mother would ever do such a thing in a million years. She was too WASPy, too well-bred, and too tasteful ever to behave in such a common manner. But it was the idea of the thing that made Brian’s stomach ache.

And Ron.

There was no escaping him. Not when he was living with Jennifer at her place.

“We’ll only stay as long as we have to, Brian,” Justin reassured him. He slipped his hand inside Brian’s.

“How about we say ‘hello’ – and then escape?” said Brian, not at all joking.

“Stop!” Justin ordered. “You give my mom the flowers and I’ll give her the wine, okay?”

“Why do we have to bring this stuff?” Brian asked. “Does your mother really need a bottle of wine?”

“It’s a hostess gift, Brian,” Justin instructed. “You bring a gift when you’re invited to dinner.”

“But it’s your own mother!” Brian replied.

“All the more reason to put her in a good mood,” said Justin, pressing the doorbell. “A nice bouquet of flowers is always appreciated by a lady. Remember that when you go to visit your mom the next time.”

“Yeah – when hell freezes over,” Brian mumbled.

“Hi, darling!” cried Jennifer as she opened the door of her condo. She was wearing a fluffy dark pink sweater and slim black pants.

“That’s new,” said Justin, giving her a kiss.

“Oh?” said Jennifer, happily. “Do you like it? Ronnie loves me in pink!”

“Here’s a bottle of wine, Mom. I wasn’t sure what you’d be serving, but the man at the wine store said that this is good with almost anything. It’s from California.”

“Thank you honey!” said Jennifer, taking the bottle. “Rosé. We’re having roast beef, so this should be fine! I’ll ask Ronnie to open it.” Then Jennifer turned to Brian. “You’ve never been to my condo before, Brian. I hope it meets your expectations.”

“It’s... very nice, Mrs. Taylor,” said Brian, self-consciously. “Here are some flowers. I hope you like daisies.” He pushed the bouquet at her. “Justin was holding them, but he started sneezing.”

“Justin, you should be taking your allergy pills!” Jennifer scolded. “The flowers are quite lovely, Brian. Thank you so much! I’ll go get a vase while you boys get comfortable.”

Justin took off his coat and hung it in the closet, then put Brian’s next to it. 

“Your mother fucking hates me,” Brian whispered.

“She does not! Don’t be paranoid, Brian.” Justin glanced around. “I wonder where Ron is?”

“Probably back there sticking pins in a voodoo doll,” said Brian. “That’s why my stomach feels the way it does!”

“You are such a drama queen!” Justin laughed.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Brian retorted.

“Just what is sounds like,” Justin replied. “Deb calls me a drama queen, but you have me beat.”

Ron came out of the bedroom. He stopped when he saw Brian standing in the foyer with Justin. He felt that twist somewhere deep inside his gut, that sinking feeling of regret and lust, but he shoved it aside.

“There you are, boys,” said Ron, jovially. “Would you like a drink?” He walked over to the bar in the corner of the living room and pulled out a bottle of vodka. “Vodka martinis are my specialty.”

“Could I have a Coke instead?” Brian asked. Justin pulled him over to the sofa and they both sat down. 

“A soda? Certainly,” said Ron, pouring some vodka into the shaker for himself and Jennifer. He reached for a Coke bottle and opened it. “And one for you, too, Justin?”

“Okay,” said Justin. “With plenty of ice, please.”

Ron brought the drinks over and handed them to the boys. Then he sat in the easy chair and sipped his martini. “Isn’t this... cozy?”

There was a long awkward silence.

“We went shopping yesterday,” said Justin, finally. “We went to the mall. To Kaufmann’s and Horne’s, mainly. Brian got some new underwear and dress pants and some shirts.”

“You’ll need a suit, too, Brian,” said Ron. “For court. But I’ll take you to my own tailor for that. I don’t want you buying some crummy suit off the rack.”

Brian shrugged. “Does that really matter? I mean, a suit is a suit. Isn’t it?”

“I want you to look good for public appearances, Brian,” said Ron, his blue eyes penetrating. “In fact, I want you to look perfect. And that means being well-dressed.” 

Brian squirmed in his seat. “Is that really so important?”

“You know it is, Brian,” said Ron, coolly. “Ask your boyfriend.” Ron’s voice took on a slight edge. “Justin knows the importance of making a good impression – and so do you. To a parole board. To a judge. To reporters. And to the world, Brian. It’s all about image. Like the black leather jacket you were wearing the other day at the PLD office. That’s perfect for cruising Liberty Avenue, but not so good for showing up in court.”

“I’d never wear a leather jacket to court, Ron,” Brian returned. “I’m not an idiot! And I don’t ‘cruise’ Liberty Avenue. I don’t ‘cruise’ – period!”

Ron snorted. “You cruise, Brian. You cruise walking down the street. Or standing completely still. Or simply sitting and staring into space like a fucking zombie! You may not be aware of it, but other guys are. They can’t help but be aware of you. Ask your boyfriend and see if he doesn’t agree. You’re a fuck-magnet, Baby.”

“I’m not your ‘Baby,’ Ron,” Brian flared. “So why don’t you fuck off about that shit?”

“Whatever you say, Brian,” Ron said blandly. “Your wish is my command!”

Jennifer walked into the living carrying a tray with chips, dips, and crudités. She set the tray on the coffee table. “Dinner should be ready in about 20 minutes, so I thought you fellows would like something to nibble on.”

“Thank you, my dear. That looks great.” Ron stood up and hugged Jennifer. Then he turned to Brian and Justin on the sofa. “The boys don’t seem to have noticed, Jen.”

Justin had been reaching for a chip, but he paused. “Noticed what?”

“Show them, Jen,” said Ron.

Jennifer blushed and held out her hand. On the third finger of her left hand was a very large square-cut diamond ring. It looked like an ice cube.

“Holy shit!” Justin exclaimed. “Mom! When did you get that?”

“Ronnie gave it to me last night,” she giggled. “We went to Papagano’s and he gave it to me over dessert. So we have something else to celebrate besides Brian’s release, honey!”

“Mom, I don’t know what to say.” Justin was stunned. He kept staring at the garish ring.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Brian?” Ron asked. “On my good fortune?”

“Oh, sure,” said Brian, doubtfully. “Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll both be very happy.”

“I know we will!” Jennifer gushed.

“So, you’re really getting married?” Justin shook his head in disbelief. His mother – and Ron! Ron – his stepfather! Justin squeezed Brian’s hand tightly. “Does Molly know?”

“I thought I’d tell her tonight when she comes back from Craig’s.” Jennifer was grinning. “She’ll be so excited! She can be my bridesmaid!”

“A... a bridesmaid?” said Justin.

“Yes, we’re only planning a small ceremony,” said Jennifer. “But I want it to be perfect! Molly will look so cute in her dress!”

“When are you planning to... to do this?” asked Justin, feeling queasy.

“In May,” said Ron. “Brian’s trial should be over by then and we’ll have time to take off for a nice, long honeymoon. Right, Jen?”

“We’re going to Hawaii! Won’t that be wonderful, honey?” Jennifer said to her son. “They say it’s so beautiful there!”

“Wonderful, Mom. Really wonderful.” Justin picked up his Coke and took a nervous sip. He noticed that Brian wasn’t saying much of anything. What must he be thinking? And what was Ron thinking? Really? Was he actually going to go through with this farce? Or was it a ploy to get at Brian somehow?

“Of course,” said Ron. “I want Brian to be my best man.”

Brian blinked. “I don’t think so,” he said slowly. 

“Yes,” said Ron. “You will be, Brian. There’s no one else.”

Brian stared at the coffee table, unable to look at Ron. What the hell? Brian thought. No one else. Shit! 

“I better get back to the kitchen,” said Jennifer. “I don’t want my roast to get too well done. Ronnie likes it rare.”

After Jennifer had left the room, Ron settled back into his chair. He smiled at Brian and Justin smugly. “One big happy family!” he commented.

“Ron....” Brian began. “Why?”

“Why not?” Ron snapped. “This is my life. You worry about your own!” Ron took a carrot stick and bit it, crunching the raw vegetable between his teeth. “By the way, Brian, I want you to call Julie first thing tomorrow morning. She needs to schedule something for you.”

“Schedule what?” asked Brian, suspiciously.

“Kirk Bradley wants to see you,” said Ron. Then he waited, taking note of Brian’s stricken face.

“Kirk... Bradley?” Brian swallowed. “Wants to see me?”

“Yes,” Ron replied. “Glenn wants to talk to you, Brian. Finally. Privately. I wonder what it is he wants to say?”


	38. Chapter 38

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian faces a demon from the past.

Chapter 38

 

March 1979

 

“Are you certain that you want to go through with this, Brian?” Julie put her hand on Brian’s arm, trying to bolster his courage.

“Yes,” said Brian, holding his head up high. “For 10 years I’ve been waiting to look Glenn in the eye. To ask him why he did what he did. To ask him if....” Brian took a deep breath. “I’m sure, Julie. And this might be my only opportunity.”

Julie gestured to the guard, who opened the door of the meeting room. 

Kirk Bradley had been held at the County lock-up since he’d turned himself in. He had agreed to plead guilty to a set of reduced charges, so he wouldn’t be going to trial. But he would appear in court for his sentencing hearing – and for Brian’s re-trial. Kirk had already made clear exactly what he would be saying. He’d made detailed statements to the prosecutors and the Feds and his ‘deal’ had been fixed by them and by the PLD, who were representing him. Kirk would be going to a medium security Federal prison in exchange for all he knew about the other Penn State Bombers. One of the other suspects had already been arrested and another was negotiating her own deal with the Feds through her lawyer. Eleven years after the fact, all everyone involved wanted was to finish this case once and for all and clear it from the books.

Brian sat down at a plain wooden table. He tapped his fingers against the surface nervously. Julie stood at his side and looked down at him. Poor Brian, she thought. It will never really end for him. How can a man erase 10 years of his life? How can a person forget such a wrong done to him? The only thing Brian could do now was to move forward with his life. To try to be happy. If that was still possible.

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Julie told him. “And so will the guard. If you want to leave at any time all you have to do is signal. Otherwise, you and Mr. Bradley will have complete privacy. So say what you need to say, Brian.”

“I will,” he replied. “And thanks, Julie, for everything you’re done.”

Julie touched Brian’s hair gently. “You’re my favorite client, honey! So it’s a pleasure to help you.” Julie leaned over. “It’s almost over, Brian. Your trial will only last a day or two. Everything is in place. Then you’ll be free to go. Free to live your life the way you want to live it.”

Brian licked his dry lips. “Is anyone truly free, Julie? Sometimes I feel more in a box outside than I ever was in the joint.”

“Let Justin help you,” said Julie. “And you can help him, too. But always remember that you aren’t alone. The past is exactly that – the past. You and Justin have your whole future ahead of you.”

Brian smiled tightly. “Thanks, Julie,” he whispered.

Julie gave him one more pat on the shoulder and then she left the room. Brian fidgeted slightly in the chair, wondering if there was still time to change his mind. Then the door opened. And Kirk Bradley was escorted in.

Glenn. He looked old, thought Brian. He must be about 35, but he looked 10 years older. He looked worn out. Beaten down. There were deep circles under his blue eyes. And his dirty blond hair was streaked with gray. He was wearing a dark green jail jumpsuit and he hadn’t shaved.

He sat down in the chair in the other side of the table. The guard left the room, shutting the door behind him. Leaving the two of them alone.

Kirk sniffed. “You mind if I smoke?” he rasped.

“No,” said Brian. He had remembered a smooth, soothing voice. “Go ahead.”

Kirk pulled a crumpled pack of Winstons out of the pocket of his jumpsuit and took one out. “They let me keep my lighter,” he said, producing a small metal Bic. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag. There was an ashtray on the table and he pulled it close to him, possessively. “You want one?”

“No, thanks,” said Brian. “I’m trying to quit.” 

“Good idea,” Kirk replied. “It’s a dirty habit.”

Brian blinked. He couldn’t stop staring at Glenn. Or Kirk. He didn’t even know what to call him. Or how to think of him. This man had been his first lover. He had kissed Brian. Fucked him. Come inside of him many times. Told him that he loved him. But he was more a stranger to Brian than the guard who had brought him into the room. He was a total enigma.

“You wanted to see me,” Brian said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “What about?”

“I....” Kirk frowned. “I got a wife. And a couple of kids. They’re here. My wife was gonna divorce me, but she changed her mind. She says she’s gonna stick with me. Wait until I get out.”

“That’s... nice.” Brian was puzzled. What did Kirk’s wife have to do with anything?

“She’s great. It’s been hard for her. All the shit we’ve been through.” Kirk took another pull on his cigarette. “She was my girlfriend even back then. She’s been with me since college. When I came to Penn State she stayed in Boston. And then....” Kirk shrugged.

“So you were never really a faggot,” said Brian. “Is that all you brought me here to say, Glenn?” Now Brian was angry. “To make certain that I didn’t mistake your intentions?”

“It was all for the cause,” said Kirk, blowing out a puff of gray smoke. “Everything I did. Everything we all did. Seems hard to believe now. No one gives a damn about anything these days. No one cares about politics or that the world is going to hell. All they care about is money.”

“So I should be happy that you fucked me over for a good and noble cause, is that it?” said Brian, his stomach churning. “That you pretended to enjoy my ass all in the name of the anti-war movement? It was all about idealism. That I was raped and beaten and drugged in prison all for your purity of purpose. I’m so glad it wasn’t about money or power or anything so mundane. That makes it all worthwhile! Well, fuck you, Glenn!”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” said Kirk, his left eye twitching at the corner. “You weren’t a part of it. You weren’t a member of the cell, so you couldn’t know how we all felt. It was the beginning of the Revolution. Or so we all thought. You got caught in it. And I’m sorry about that. But if it hadn’t been you, then it would have been someone else. That’s the way it was. What else can I say?” 

“Nothing,” said Brian. “You’ve made it all very clear. I was never a person to you. I was a thing. That’s what I was in prison, too. Do you know that? A thing. Maybe that’s what I was born to be. A thing. Always something to be used.”

“I read your articles in ‘The New Yorker,’” said Kirk. “Someone... some guy gave them to me to read. You got a shitty break.” Kirk shrugged. “Lots of people get a shitty break in life. You hate me? Okay, I understand that. But I’m paying for it. And I’ve been paying for it for a long time. All my ideals turned out to be worth less than nothing. Me and my wife and the kids – we lived hand-to-mouth, always running. Always scared. And now I’m going to jail. What more do you want from me?”

“I want my life back,” Brian breathed. He felt the tears backing up in his eyes, but he couldn’t let them fall. He couldn’t let this man see them. He couldn’t let anyone see him cry. That was the first rule. 

“Sorry.” Kirk looked down at the table. He couldn’t even meet Brian’s eyes. “I’m testifying for you at your trial. What more can I do? Hang myself?”

“No,” said Brian. “I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work. Someone always comes and pulls you down. Someone always saves you, even when you don’t want to be saved.”

“Huh?” said Kirk. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Brian replied. “Nothing at all.”

All of the questions that Brian had wanted to ask Glenn had drained out of him, leaving Brian feeling flat. Empty. There was no Glenn. There never had been a Glenn. He was only a shadow. All that they had done together, all Brian had felt for this man – it was all dissolved into air as if it had never existed. And the years Brian had spent in the Quad were a shadow, too. Brian’s crime had been erased by the Feds and the prosecutors. All of those years were a phantom. But what did that leave Brian with? Some very real scars on his body. And even more scars on his soul.

Even Ron was an illusion now. He wasn’t the same person Brian had known in the Quad. Like Glenn, Ron no longer had the power to hurt him.

And Baby. There was no Baby. Baby was dead. Baby had grown up into someone who had no name. No past. Someone who was a void. Who was Brian Kinney? What was he? That had yet to be determined.

But then there was Justin. That was the only thing that was real now. Justin – and whatever the two of them could make out of their lives.

“I guess that’s all,” said Kirk, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “I’ll see you in court.”

“Sure,” said Brian. “In court.”

Kirk stood up and nodded to the guard on the other side of the glass. The officer opened the door and led Kirk away, back into the bowels of the County Jail. The man never looked back.

Brian sat at the table, alone. His hands were trembling slightly. Then they were trembling violently. Brian felt the tears coursing down his hot cheeks. He couldn’t stop them. Couldn’t make them go away.

Brian put his head down on the table and covered it with his hands. And he wept like the tears would never end. Never, ever end.


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian's retrial…
> 
> Only one more chapter after this to make an end of "Medium Security."

Chapter 39

 

April 1979

 

Brian sat in the courtroom wearing his new suit. 

It was dark gray and had been fitted to his body by Ron’s tailor. Brian had four new suits in gray, blue, brown, and a tan shade that Ron called ‘fawn.’ And he had new shirts to match them. And ties, too. All selected to compliment Brian’s coloring. Altered by the tailor to fit Brian like a glove. All designed to make the perfect impression.

All bullshit, as far as Brian was concerned.

But that was out of his hands now. His entire life was out of his control until the verdict came down. 

And after that....

Brian’s re-trial lasted two days. The PLD had waived Brian’s right to a jury and left it to the judge to make the final decision. Julie said that this judge was a good one. He was an old man, almost ready for retirement, but he was fair. And he was a man of the old school who was angered by many of the abuses in the Prosecutor’s Office that had culminated in James Stockwell’s downfall. 

Judge Morris Feldman listened stone-faced to the case that the prosecution presented, which mainly consisted of information that was over a decade old. Then he listened to Julie’s defense, who offered as its centerpiece the testimony of Kirk Bradley, the admitted mastermind of the Penn State Bombings. Bradley was mechanical as he recited his well-rehearsed story, looking directly ahead and never once glancing at the man whose life he had ruined so many years before. But Kirk Bradley said what needed to be said. And he said it convincingly.

To Brian Kirk Bradley’s testimony seemed like a tale from a distant time and place. His biggest fear had been that he wouldn’t be able to listen to Kirk without breaking down, but that had not been the case. Perhaps sitting with Kirk, face to face, and realizing that Kirk had no real remorse or understanding of what he had done to Brian had bled all of the emotion out of the big moment in court, because Brian felt nothing. Instead, it was like he was disembodied from it all, as if the story Kirk told had happened to another person, in, as Shakespeare had said, another country.

So Brian sat passively over both days of his trial and simply listened. It had already been decided that he would not testify. His version of the story wasn’t necessary, Julie assured him. The only thing up in the air was whether the judge would find Brian guilty on all of the remaining charges or only some of them. But no matter what, Brian had already served years beyond the time to which he could possibly be sentenced. It was all a formality. All a show.

And now that the real Penn State Bomber was going to plead guilty and avoid going to trial, this was who the reporters had to work with – Brian Kinney. But this Brian Kinney also made a perfect picture for their cameras. Tall, handsome, well-mannered, and elegantly turned out in an expensive designer suit (thanks to Ron and his tailor), Kinney appeared more like the film version of a defendant than the real thing. So there he was – the wronged man. The man with a compelling – and juicy – story to tell. And a book to be published in the fall. A celebrity in the making.

Brian tried not to look around at the people who had crowded the courtroom in order to gape at him. He was too afraid of what they might read on his face.

Justin was sitting in the first row, directly behind him, so close that Brian could hear him breathing and smell his herbal shampoo. Justin’s mother, Jennifer Taylor, sat next to him, and next to her was her fiancé, Ron Rosenblum. All of the men and women from the Prisoners’ Legal Defense were sitting in the next row behind them, from John, who was ready to retire and hand over the reins of the PLD to Ron, to Josh, the paralegal Brian had been training to work at Stanton. This was their showcase trial, their greatest success, and they didn’t want to miss it.

Also in the courtroom were Brian’s literary agent, James Crossley, and his new editor, Ed McCandless. And Amy Carver and her friend from Carnegie Mellon, Will Foxe. And Debbie Novotny, too, wearing a new red wig and the shocking pink spring coat she had bought for Easter. They were all there to see Justice done. All there to see Brian set free, finally.

And standing at the very back, near the door, was a nondescript man dressed in a plain dark suit. This wasn’t the end for the Feds, it was only the beginning. Now they knew the names of all of the Penn State Bombers. Kirk Bradley had sung like a bird. He was wrapped up tightly with a big bow and the other conspirators would soon follow. None of them would get away this time. Brian Kinney could go on his merry way. He was no longer important. His purpose had been served.

At the end of the trial Judge Morris Feldman gave a speech about the wheels of Justice turning slowly, but turning all the same. About all of the years that it had taken to come to this moment. Then he asked Brian to stand. He apologized to Brian. Apologized for his wasted youth. For what he had endured. Then Judge Feldman found him guilty on the charge of being an accessory to vandalism and breaking and entering, but found him not guilty as an accessory to burglary. Then he sentenced him to time already served. And it was over. Court was adjourned.

The bailiffs tried to clear the room, but reporters pressed around, clamoring for a comment from Brian or his attorney. Julie, however, shook her head and put herself between the press and her client. “Don’t say anything, Brian,” she had told him before. “We’ll release a written statement after it’s all over.” 

The press also tried to get something out of Justin or Jennifer or Ron, who they identified as Brian Kinney’s “immediate family.” But Ron announced grandly that he would be holding a press conference at the offices of the Prisoners’ Legal Defense at noon the next day to discuss Brian Kinney, his upcoming book, and the upcoming sentencing of Kirk Bradley. Julie rolled her eyes when she heard this, but there was nothing she could do since Ron would soon be her new boss.

With no new statements from any of the principals, the press grabbed at everyone who looked like they knew Brian Kinney and shoved a microphone in their faces. That’s how Debbie Novotny ended up on Channel 6 that evening. She was glad that she had worn her new wig and coat. They looked real good on TV! Nice and colorful. She hoped that Mikey and his friends in Stanton were watching.

“In a week they’ll have forgotten who you are, Brian – for the time being,” said Ron as they settled into the limo the PLD had hired to take them away from the courthouse. “That’s the way it is. A new story will push this one off the front pages. But we don’t want them to completely forget about you, Brian. While you work on your book I plan to feed a few selected journalists enough information to keep them interested. That way when your book comes out in the fall we’ll have some sympathetic press ready to play up its release. Some of the other Penn State gang should be coming up for trial by then and that will also stir up interest in what you have to say. But I want to pick and choose the items and where they will appear. The placement of information is key to the success of my new strategy for the PLD.”

“Sure, Ron,” Brian said. “Whatever you say.” 

“Is it really over?” asked Justin, putting his arm around Brian’s waist. Justin was relieved to be out of the courthouse and away from the reporters, but Brian still seemed tense and edgy.

“Yes, honey!” said Jennifer, happily. “Now we can focus on the wedding! Right, Ronnie?”

“Of course, my dear,” Ron said with satisfaction. “The wedding.”

“No,” Brian said in a low voice. “It’s never fucking over, Justin. There’s always something else. Something you never thought of ready to hit you on your blind-side.”

Justin touched Brian’s face gently. “Maybe there’s always something else coming, but it’ll be nothing but good that’s going to come to us.” Justin glanced out the window of the moving car. It was a beautiful April day, full of sun. “Next week is your birthday. Remember last year when I gave your party in the Quad? Who would’ve thought that in a year we’d both be out? That we’d be starting a new life – together? Nothing but good things from now on, Brian! I promise!”

But Brian couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. ‘Hope’ was still a word in a foreign language that Brian was desperately trying to learn.


	40. Chapter 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally safe. 
> 
> The Finale of "Medium Security."

Chapter 40

 

Every night before they went to bed, Justin locked and bolted the door of the apartment. Then he checked the windows to make certain they were also closed and locked. Then Justin went into the bedroom and shut the door firmly behind him.

Brian was always in bed first. He was never asleep, just already there, smoking one last cigarette, or turning the pages of a book he was pretending to read, or simply staring up at the ceiling, waiting for Justin.

“Everything’s locked down nice and tight,” Justin would say, shedding his shorts and tee shirt before getting into bed.

“Good,” Brian would reply. And then he would switch off the light, turn over, and take Justin into his arms.

But Justin would wake up in the middle of the night and find Brian gone. At first he simply rolled over and went back to sleep, assuming that Brian was in the bathroom. But then he realized that Brian wasn’t in the bathroom. He was roaming around in the dark, checking and double-checking the locks on the door and the windows. Looking out at the street. Wandering through the apartment, room by room, unable to sleep.

“Brian,” Justin said finally. “No one is going to break in. This isn’t the greatest neighborhood in the world, but we don’t have anything worth stealing either. It’s all right, Brian. Everything is fine.”

“I know,” said Brian. “I’m only making sure.” And the next night he would be up again, checking the front door, rattling the windows, shutting the door of the bedroom securely. Brian couldn’t sleep or rest in a room where the door was ajar even slightly. He had to get up and close it. And then check it again after closing it. Just to make certain.

The night that Brian’s trial was concluded they went to bed early. Justin was emotionally drained and Brian seemed only to want to get into their bed and forget about the rest of the world.

Brian buried himself in Justin, closing his eyes, but opening his hands and his mouth. And Justin opened himself, letting his lover lose himself in the one place where it was safe to get lost. The one place where it was still safe to let himself go.

Afterwards Justin smiled as he nestled in the pillows and tumbled blankets. Everything would be right from now on. They would make it right. Together.

Brian and Justin lay quietly for a long time, but then Brian sat up suddenly. He lit a cigarette and got out of bed. He stood at the bedroom window, staring out at the quiet street for a long time.

The ground outside was still cool, but the wind blowing in from the south was warm with the spring. Mist was rising from that ground like a ghost, wrapping around the cars and trees and obscuring the buildings across the narrow street.

“Brian? What’s wrong?”

Justin was beside him, touching his arm, his hip. Taking the cigarette out of his hand and putting it into his own mouth.

“I don’t want you smoking,” said Brian, pulling it from Justin’s lips. “You’ll smell like smoke.”

“I’ll smell like you,” Justin laughed.

“That’s even worse,” Brian snorted. 

“Tell me,” Justin asked. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Brian stood silently, unable to reply. But then he leaned against Justin and opened up the one thing he had left that was still shut up tight – his heart.

“I thought I knew what my future was. I was resigned to it. I knew that I would live and probably die in prison. That one day I’d run out of what little luck I had – and that would be the end of it. It wasn’t a happy life, but I made the most of it. I knew my place in that little world. And then....”

“Then I showed up in the Quad,” Justin added. “And fucked up everything.”

“Fucked me up, you mean,” said Brian. “You changed the game. It was no longer about me and my own survival. It was about something more. About having a future. About having... hope.” Brian could barely say the word.

“Brian, your life belongs to you now,” Justin said. “You can do anything you want to do. Go anywhere you want to go. Whatever you decide – I’ll back you up.”

Anything Brian wanted. His choice. His decision. That was an alien notion.

“One day I want to... see the ocean.” Brian grimaced. It sounded so stupid. But it had been something he’d dreamed about for a long time. “I want to see if the water is really blue – like in the movies.”

“We can do that,” Justin said. “You pick the ocean, Brian. Any ocean you want.” 

Brian put his arm around Justin. “You say that like it’s so fucking easy.”

“Why not?” Justin leaned into Brian, feeling his body. Feeling his heart beating. “Why is it difficult? You’re free, Brian. Believe it.”

“It feels like that fog outside,” said Brian. “As soon as the sun comes up it’ll disappear.”

“Nothing is going to disappear,” Justin assured him. “I’m not going to disappear. Unless... unless you want me to?”

Brian smiled. “Only if we can disappear together. I still want to find that place, Justin. The valley from my dream. I know it’s out there. Maybe it isn’t time for me to find it yet. But someday....”

“We’ll find it, Brian. Remember the drawing I sent you when you were sick?” Justin closed his eyes. “The two horses running together? That’s the way it is. The way it’ll always be. Believe me.”

“I’m trying,” Brian whispered. “Believing is the hardest thing of all.”

“I know,” said Justin. “But once you believe, then everything else will fall into place. The gates are open, Brian. The walls are down. All we have to do is run.”

“And no one will chase us?” Brian pushed his face into Justin’s soft hair. “No one will catch us?”

“No one, Brian.” Justin opened his eyes. “That’s what freedom means.” 

“This is what it means,” said Brian, kissing Justin. “Right here. That’s what I believe.” 

“Then that’s enough,” said Justin.

And it was.

 

*FIN*

 


End file.
